


Gravity Rises: The Stanley Parable [Episode Two]

by BrightnessWings19



Series: Gravity Rises: Season Three [4]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Gravity Rises (Gravity Falls), Emotional Manipulation, Episode Two, Family, Fantasy, Gen, Mystery, Paranormal, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22470301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightnessWings19/pseuds/BrightnessWings19
Summary: Ford finally reunites with his brother, but Bill Cipher is still determined to keep the two apart. Meanwhile, Blind Lincoln discovers a web of lies that will force him to confront his past.
Series: Gravity Rises: Season Three [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1319543
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**WINTER 1983**

Percy Pleasure sat at his desk in the headquarters for the Order of the Crescent Eye. He wasn’t wearing his purple robe today, for he was only here for a short time before he had to leave. Instead, he wore a checkered golf sweater and khaki pants with comfortable loafers. As he bent over his work, he hummed a jaunty little tune to himself.

That tune halted as his wrist lit up with a deep green glow.

Percy put down his pen and frowned at his wrist. There, he had an intricate design inked into his skin. And it was glowing.

He sighed. “Not again.”

What was this, the third time this week? He stood and gave a little sigh. His records would have to wait for now: Percy had to go _babysit_.

He walked down the stone halls of the Order, passing a few purple-robed cultists who gave him a curious look when they saw his outfit. He ignored them. There was only one person he needed to see, and that person wouldn’t be wearing a robe either.

Or, perhaps he would be. Perhaps he thought that blending in would help him escape.

Percy turned a corner and saw him. No, no robe. It wouldn’t have helped anyway, which he surely knew. Instead, Lincoln wore simple jeans, a t-shirt, and a sheen of perspiration on his forehead as he struggled in vain against the barrier.

This barrier was nothing fancy. In fact, it was almost nothing at all. No one was affected by this invisible barrier except Lincoln, who was currently trying to push through it.

Again.

“Lincoln,” Percy said.

Lincoln didn’t react to his voice. Instead, he kept pushing against the invisible barrier, grunting in pain as its magic pulled him back.

“Lincoln, it’s not going to work. You’re only hurting yourself.”

No response.

Percy stepped up next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Step back, Lincoln. You can’t get through.”

“I could if you let me through,” Lincoln replied through gritted teeth.

“That’s not an option.” Percy pulled gently on Lincoln’s arm. “Come on. Step back. It’s okay.”

Lincoln didn’t respond at first; Percy was about to pull harder when he finally stepped back. He stumbled a bit as the magic forcibly pushed him away. Percy moved to support him, but Lincoln waved him off. He bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs, and let out heavy breaths. Percy waited for him to recover.

Soon, he straightened and wiped his forehead with the back of his left hand. There, on his wrist, was an ink design that matched Percy’s — glowing the same shade of green.

“It’s a good thing the hex alerts me,” Percy commented. “If I didn’t come, how long would you have been here?”

Lincoln just glared at him and balled his left hand into a fist. Since he was no longer pushing against the enchanted barrier, the green glow on his wrist faded. The black ink, forming the hex that kept him prisoner here, stayed.

Percy had applied the hex six months ago, but Lincoln had never stopped fighting against it.

“Let’s go,” Percy suggested.

Stubbornly, Lincoln plopped onto the ground, leaning back on his hands. He stared up the nearby staircase — the one he could not climb — and to the door at the top.

“You’re in the walkway,” Percy pointed out. “Surely it can’t help to stare at what you can’t have.”

Frosty silence.

“I brought some new ingredients for you,” Percy coaxed, knowing that Lincoln enjoyed cooking. “I think we can try again with the kitchen.”

Lincoln glanced up at him, unimpressed. “You’d trust me?” he asked sardonically.

Percy cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think you can be trusted?” he replied. “You know full well that you can’t get through the barrier, but you keep trying anyway. I want to trust you around knives, but I don’t want you to purposefully hurt yourself again.”

He was referring to an incident from last month. One evening, while Percy enjoyed a lovely dinner with his wife, his hex lit up and started flashing. He had never seen it _flash_ before, so he regrettably excused himself and hurried to the Order. Lincoln wasn’t at the base of the stairs, where Percy expected to find him: Instead, he was back in the Order’s small kitchen, gouging at his left wrist with a sharp knife. Percy had immediately intervened, wrenching the knife away from Lincoln and dragging him back to his room. Once Lincoln was safely cuffed to the wall (by his right wrist), Percy had tended his injury with the first aid kit he kept in a nearby broom closet. “That won’t work,” he’d admonished Lincoln. “The hex is active unless I purposefully deactivate it.”

Later, once Lincoln’s wrist was healed, Percy deactivated the hex and reapplied it. This time, the kitchen was excluded from the area where Lincoln was permitted to roam.

Now, as he sat on the floor by the stairs, Lincoln studied the stones beneath him. “I won’t try that again,” he said morosely. “I’m not a masochist.”

“Then why do you keep pushing against the barrier?” asked Percy. “That looks painful, too.”

A long silence passed before Lincoln answered. Then, he looked up at his captor with longing in his eyes. “I haven’t been outside in six months,” he said quietly.

This was true. In fact, Lincoln’s only memories were down in the Order headquarters. Six months ago, he had woken up with total amnesia. And he hadn’t left headquarters since. Percy hadn’t allowed him to.

“I know the sun exists,” Lincoln continued. “I know about trees, and flowers, and clouds. But I can’t. . .” He took a deep breath. “I can’t remember ever _being_ in the sun. Or climbing a tree, or smelling a flower, or looking for shapes in the clouds. I know those things are common, but. . . as far as I know, I’ve never done them.”

Percy watched him solemnly.

“Do you know how horrible that is?” he finished. His voice cracked with emotion as he said it.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said. Lord Cipher, leader of the Order, had long since informed him about the nature of Lincoln’s amnesia. Lincoln still had his procedural and semantic memory, meaning that he remembered basic facts (such as the existence of the sun) and skills (such as cooking). However, as of six months ago, he had lost all of his episodic memory. All the events of his life, all the relationships he had before his amnesia, were gone. This led to confusing and frustrating moments when Lincoln knew that he knew something, but he couldn’t remember where he had learned the fact or when he had used the skill.

“If you were actually sorry,” Lincoln said, “you’d let me go.”

“Then what?” Percy replied. “If you left here, you’d have nothing.”

This was untrue. Percy knew full well that Lincoln, prior to losing his memory, had been a man named Stanley Pines, and that his twin brother Stanford still lived nearby. If Lincoln escaped, he’d probably find Stanford and rediscover his past.

Percy couldn’t let that happen. Lord Cipher had forbidden it.

“I could find something,” Lincoln argued. “I could find my past, maybe even get my memory back!”

“This is a small town,” said Percy with a shake of his head, “and I’d never seen you before I found you, remember? You were probably just visiting. Whatever clues there are about your past, they aren’t here. I’d hate for you to build up hope, only to have it taken from you by reality. You’d be penniless, and in despair, and angry at the world. . . . I couldn’t bear to know I let you destroy yourself like that.”

“And why do you care so much about me?” Lincoln demanded. “So what if I have nothing? So what if I get out there and starve to death? What is it to you?”

Percy shrugged. “Like you said. I care about you. I want you to be safe.” He cast a significant look on his prisoner. “And I want everyone else to be safe, too.”

Lincoln glared at him. “Don’t,” he said tightly.

“You’re dangerous, Lincoln,” said Percy, and his voice was soft. He sat down next to Lincoln and took his hand; Lincoln tried to tug it away, but Percy held on. “If I let you go, you’ll hurt people. You’ll hurt yourself. I’m the only one who cares about you enough to prevent that from happening.”

“Stop,” Lincoln whispered.

“You know it’s true,” Percy said gently. “I give you food and shelter; I care about you; and I stop you from hurting anyone. You’re angry at me, but I’m acting for your own good. And, if you have to be angry at anyone, at least it’s me.”

“Since I can’t actually hurt you,” Lincoln muttered.

“Exactly.” Another perk of the hex: Its caster, Percy, was immune to any harm from its victim, Lincoln. Between Percy’s protection from the hex and Gaston Northwest’s protection from his amulet, Lincoln couldn’t attack the two people he most often desired to hurt. Then, when he tried to attack them anyway, Percy could claim that as proof that Lincoln was dangerous and unstable. The tactic worked beautifully, according to Lord Cipher: Lincoln’s natural anger held plenty of fuel for the fire, and Lincoln became more convinced that he was a danger to others every time that anger arose.

Percy stood up and pulled Lincoln to his feet. “I’m sorry you haven’t been outside yet,” he said. “That must be hard for you. If it helps, the weather is quite dismal this time of year.”

Lincoln didn’t answer.

“That doesn’t help, I suppose,” Percy said. “Come, let’s go somewhere else, so you don’t have to think about it. The library, maybe? Or I can redraw the hex to include the kitchen now.”

Fire entered Lincoln’s eyes. “Redraw it right here,” he challenged.

Percy shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I won’t redraw it here.” If he did, Lincoln could break away, pass through the temporarily defunct barrier, and escape into the outside world.

Lincoln let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. The library, I guess.” He wasn’t one to read for pleasure; but between reading, eating, and sleeping, he didn’t have many options.

“All right, I’ll walk with you,” Percy said. “Then I have to go.”

Lincoln glanced at him. “You’re golfing? In the winter?”

“No, I just like this sweater,” Percy replied. “I’m glad you associate it with golf, though. More proof that you can still remember things like that.” He smiled brightly.

Lincoln didn’t smile back. “Sure, I can remember things like that,” he said, “but who cares? I still don’t know who I am.” Desperation infused his voice as he said, “I have to know who I am, Percy.”

“I know who you are,” Percy said immediately. “You’re Lincoln. You’re my friend. Just because you don’t remember your old life doesn’t mean you can’t build a new one.”

Lincoln didn’t answer.

The two men walked together until they reached the top of the staircase that led to the library. There, Percy pulled Lincoln into a hug.

“I care about you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry you can’t see that right now, but I do.”

Lincoln didn’t respond, but he seemed to hold on a little tighter. Then he stepped back. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes,” Percy said, “and I’ll redraw the hex. Until then.” He waved goodbye.

Lincoln raised a hand in farewell and watched his caregiver walk away.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Lee had a visitor in his dreams.

He stood in an empty field with a blue sky and green grass. The dream world was fuzzy, given that Lee’s mind wasn’t constructing it from a specific memory, but from a hypothetical knowledge. A stuttering wind blew past him, but he couldn’t feel it in this dream state. He simply knew that wind was blowing. What did wind feel like, again?

Lee took a step forward and peered through the long grass. There was something down there, something sitting in the dirt. Lee knelt down to get a closer look.

“Hi there, **Blind Eye** ,” said Bill Cipher.

The triangle lay on the ground, blending in with the dirt around him. His body was a dull grey, but little patches of glowing yellow poked through the stony surface. His single eye stared up at Lee.

“Hey, Bill,” said Lee. He held out a hand, and Bill took it, pulling himself into the air so that he floated a foot away from Lee’s face.

“You’re dreaming,” Bill said kindly. “Remember, you can only talk with me in **dreams**.”

Lee snapped into lucidity. “Oh,” he said, a little discombobulated from the experience. Then he deflated. “I thought I was actually outside.”

Bill floated forward and put a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “Unfortunately not,” he said. “Hopefully you’ll get some sun **soon** , though.”

Lee just shrugged.

“Hey, I had an **idea** ,” Bill said. “It’ll sound weird at first, but hear me out.”

“What is it?”

Bill floated to the ground and patted it, gesturing for Lee to sit. He did, and Bill sat next to him, his thin black legs stretching in front of him.

“Percy’s **worried** about you,” Bill said. “He feels he has to constantly watch you to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. And his fears aren’t **unfounded** — you keep trying to escape. You keep hurting yourself.”

Lee shrugged again, uncomfortably. “Yeah, well,” he said, “according to him, I’m a danger to myself. So that shouldn’t be surprising.”

“What if I could help you be **less** of a danger to yourself?”

Lee didn’t want to perk up, but he did. Kind of like how he didn’t want to believe what Percy told him, but he did.

“You seem **interested**.”

Another shrug. Try not to look intrigued.

Bill wasn’t fooled by the act. “I could make a **deal** with you,” he said. “If you stop trying to **escape** , I could redirect your attention somewhere else. You’d be comfortable in the Order; you’d be comfortable without your **memory**.”

Lee shot him a wary look. “How would you do _that_?”

“When people let me, I can **change** their brain chemistry. I can exaggerate some mental pathways or suppress others.”

Now Lee _really_ perked up. “Wait! Could you restore my memory?”

“ **No** ,” Bill said sadly. “Those pathways have been destroyed **entirely**. I can only work with what’s already there.”

Lee stared at him. The dream world darkened.

“Calm down,” Bill said. “Calm down, or you’ll wake yourself up. I can’t restore your memory, but I **can** help you adapt to your situation. I can suppress your **desire** to get your memory back.”

Lee’s expression closed into skepticism. “Why would I want that? I need my memory back!”

“You can’t get it back,” Bill said. “It’s **impossible**. Why destroy yourself by pining after something you can’t have? Your best option is to make a **deal** with me. You stop trying to escape. I make your situation more bearable.”

Lee hesitated. The dream wind stormed around him, whipping through the grass, though he still couldn’t feel it. He reminded himself to calm down, or he’d wake up. He didn’t want to wake up yet.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said. “Could you. . . Can you take me on another adventure?”

Bill gazed at him benevolently. “Of **course** I can,” he said. “ **Where** would you like to go?”

“Surprise me.”

So Bill did. He changed the dream world around them until it was a fantastic landscape, full of bright colors and beautiful creatures. Then Bill and Lee spent an exhilarating time exploring this new world and basking in its light. Ever since Lee had met Bill, the triangle had provided these kinds of dreams for him. Given that Lee didn’t have the memory to construct fantastic dreams, Bill stepped in and built the dream world for him. It was the closest Lee got to being outside, and he lived for these times.

Their time together ended far too quickly, as it always did. “You’re about to wake up,” Bill informed Lee. “I have to **leave** you. Think about my offer, all right?”

Right, the deal. Lee had almost forgotten about it in their adventures. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll see you again soon?”

“ **Soon** ,” Bill agreed.

The colors of the dream faded into blackness.

Lee sat up in bed with a jerk.

The room was entirely dark. Lee reached for a pocket flashlight provided to him by Percy and turned it on. Even such a small beam of LED light hurt Lee’s eyes; he was too used to the firelight of the lanterns. He’d asked Percy once — if the Order had a functioning bathroom and kitchen, why didn’t they have electric lights? Percy had replied that they did, hidden among the rock of the ceiling, but he preferred the ambiance of the lanterns. So he never turned on the electric lights, and Lee quickly became accustomed to firelight.

But, he was stuck with this pocket flashlight until someone came to light his lantern. He’d asked Percy for matches so he could light his own lantern. Percy had given him the flashlight, but he had refused him a matchbox. After Lee’s attempt with the kitchen knife, what could he do with open flame?

With this thought came a prick of guilt. What had Lee become, that he couldn’t be trusted around knives or fire? He didn’t like hurting himself — but he was so desperate that he did it anyway. No wonder Percy couldn’t trust him. He _was_ dangerous.

Maybe. . . maybe if he took Bill’s deal, he wouldn’t try to hurt himself anymore.

No. No, Lee, don’t give up like that. He turned off his flashlight and flopped back onto his pillow, trying and failing to redirect his thoughts. The darkness surrounded him for some time — until he heard his doorknob turn. He jumped to a sitting position and clicked on his flashlight.

It was Percy. Lee’s momentary panic subsided.

“Good morning,” Percy said genially. He carried a fire-lit lantern, which he used to replace the lantern above Lee’s bed. He wore a winter coat, with another coat draped over his arm. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small ink brush, then gestured for Lee to offer his wrist.

Lee held out his left arm. “Are you adding the kitchen?” Percy hadn’t come back yesterday to do so.

“Not yet,” Percy said. “I’m redoing the hex so you’re allowed within fifty feet of me.”

Lee frowned and pulled his arm back. “Why?”

Percy smiled at him. “We’re going outside,” he said.

“Wait, really?” Lee stared at Percy as excitement blossomed in his chest.

Percy nodded, and he gestured for Lee’s arm again. Lee held it out, and Percy deactivated the hex with a touch. The black ink faded from Lee’s wrist.

Immediately, Lee thought about running away. He could stand up, push Percy aside, and run out of here. He could run up the entryway stairs and to the outside world.

As if reading his thoughts, Percy said softly, “I hope I don’t have to cuff you.”

Lee deflated. “No,” he murmured, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Percy’s eyes. He didn’t have to look to imagine the disappointment found therein.

So he stared at his left wrist instead. Percy redrew the hex: a network of complex brushstrokes that made Lee a bit dizzy. How did Percy remember the patterns? Lee had never seen him consult a book or anything.

“There,” Percy said as he finished the final stroke. The completed hex flashed green, then faded to black. Percy put the ink brush back into his pocket and held out his extra coat. “I don’t know if this will fit you, but it’s an old one of mine, and I think you’re about my size. I’ll let you get changed.”

He left the room. Lee’s new hex didn’t give a warning glow, so Percy stayed within fifty feet — probably just outside the door. In a flurry of excitement, Lee got dressed and pulled the coat on. It fit fairly well.

This was it. This was really happening. Lee was finally going outside.

He threw open the door with giddy anticipation. “Let’s go.”

Like he’d thought, Percy had been waiting for him in the hallway. An easy smile split his face as he regarded Lee. “This way.”

Lee followed; he was so excited that he hardly noticed where they were going. Then he realized — they were going away from the door. Away from the stairs that led to the outside world.

“Percy? I thought we were going outside.”

“We are,” Percy replied, “but through a different way.” He led Lee through the Order to a passage he had never seen before. “In here.”

“What’s this?”

“This passage connects the Order headquarters to the Northwest manor,” Percy said. “Not many people know about it, but it’s how Gaston gets here so fast when he’s needed.”

Lee frowned. “Right. To wipe memories.”

He’d known for some time that the Order existed to wipe people’s memory of the supernatural. That Gaston’s amulet could reach into people’s minds and erase their memories. Not only had this horrified Lee when he’d first found out, but he instantly thought that Gaston had wiped _his_ memory. This suspicion had lasted about a month, until Bill Cipher convinced him that Gaston couldn’t even see into Lee’s mind, much less wipe his memory. And Percy reminded Lee that they found him unconscious, after his memory was already gone. “We never wipe people’s memories entirely,” he’d said. “We simply relieve their fears about the dangerous creatures out there. We didn’t cause your amnesia.”

The explanation would have to do. Supposedly, Bill never lied, and Percy didn’t seem to have a malicious bone in his body. It didn’t make sense that he would intentionally burden himself with the care of Lee by causing his amnesia — he simply took care of Lee out of the kindness of his heart.

And now, again out of kindness, he was taking Lee outside. Out to see the sun.

The two men went through the passage and emerged through a tapestry into a thickly carpeted hallway, lined with more tapestries. Lee stared down at the carpet in wonder — was this the first time he’d seen carpet since waking up six months ago? He wanted to take off his shoes and feel the threads beneath his feet.

Then Percy waved for him to follow, so he did.

After descending a staircase, Percy led Lee down a series of hallways, then down a second set of stairs. They passed busy servants as they went, and Lee took in each new face.

Eventually, they came across another man, dressed far more finely than the servants. “Hello, Percy,” he said. Then to Lee, “And you must be Lincoln.”

“It’s Lee,” he replied automatically. He still didn’t call himself Lincoln, even though it was the only name Percy used for him.

“Lincoln, this is Gabriel Northwest,” said Percy. Gabriel held out a hand, and Lee took it.

“Percy told me that you’ve been wanting to go outside,” Gabriel said. “You’re welcome to use our grounds, though I personally would wait until it gets warmer.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” said Percy. “Just through here, yes?” he added with a gesture.

Gabriel nodded, and Percy led Lee through a nearby door.

A door that led outside.

When Percy said the weather was “quite dismal”, he wasn’t lying. The sky was overcast, but the clogged sunlight still hurt Lee’s lantern-accustomed eyes. A sharp wind blew through the air, carrying frenzied snowflakes on its tail.

It was amazing.

Lee broke into a run, headed for a distant gate. He was finally outside. He could run and run, and no one could stop him. He could get out of here, get into the world, find his memory—

He slammed to a stop.

No. No! Not the barrier, not again, not here. Lee struggled against the magic, and panic welled up inside him as his exuberance at being outside was squelched by this reminder that he was still a prisoner. This couldn’t be happening — he was finally outside, finally _free_ —

“Lincoln,” Percy called.

Lee stopped pushing against the barrier long enough to look back. Percy was still standing by the doorway, fifty feet away. He didn’t move.

No. _No_. Lee pushed against the barrier again. He had to keep running. He refused to be kept on a _leash_.

“Lincoln,” came the call again. “Lincoln, stop; you’re only hurting yourself.”

“Then come closer!” he yelled back.

“Not until you back away.”

Well, Lee didn’t particularly want Percy to come closer; he _wanted_ to get through the barrier. He pushed against it with everything he had. It surrounded him like jelly, getting denser the further he pushed into it. Invisible magic crackled like static shocks against his skin.

“Lincoln, please: Don’t do this. Don’t ruin your time out here.”

Though the wind whipped against his coat, though the cold seeped through his jeans, Lee didn’t feel it. He only felt the suffocating blanket of the magic around him as it stopped him from breaking free of the hex. It was just like all those other times, down in the enclosed halls of the Order, trying to get through another barrier that felt just like this one. . . .

“Please stop,” Percy said. His voice carried on the wind until he seemed closer to Lee than he actually was. Hot tears sprang up in Lee’s eyes; whether they were from emotion, wind, or physical pain, he didn’t know.

Percy wasn’t going to move, it seemed. And Lee, though he tried so desperately, still could not breach the barrier.

So, finally, he moved away.

The magic spit him out with a final indignant shock. Lee managed to keep his balance, though he felt like collapsing in despair. Miserably, he glanced to his left wrist as the green glow faded from his hex.

Then there was a hand on his shoulder. Percy had run over to him to comfort him. Mangled gratitude coursed through Lee as he let his captor — his caregiver — envelop him in an embrace. The wind and snow swirled around them as they stood there together.

“I’m sorry,” Percy whispered. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go. I’ll stay by your side now. You can go wherever you like on the grounds, and I’ll be there with you.”

“Don’t leave me,” Lee replied, even though he wanted nothing more in that moment than to never see Percy again. “Don’t leave me.” His body shook. Or maybe it was just the wind.

“I won’t,” Percy promised. He moved back so he could look Lee in the face. “We’re outside now. We have this whole yard. What do you want to do?”

“I want to run,” Lee said immediately. He wanted to feel the stinging wind in his face and know that he was _doing_ something. He wanted to _move_.

“Okay,” Percy said. “Lead the way.”

So they ran. It wasn’t the same as running through Bill’s dreamscapes: It was better. Now, Lee could feel his legs moving. He could feel his heart pumping. He could feel the wind as it coarsely caressed his face. He could feel the snow as it landed on his cheeks and eyelashes.

He could, for the first time in six months, feel _alive_.

The two men ran until they were out of energy, while Percy kept an easy pace with Lee. When Lee stumbled to a stop, panting, Percy clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Feeling better?”

Lee took a few gasping breaths. “I want to do that all the time.”

“If you ran all the time, you’d collapse with exhaustion,” Percy replied facetiously.

Lee rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t resist a bit of a smile. “You know what I meant.”

“I do,” Percy said, “and Gabriel is willing to work something out with us so that you can come here more often. Shall we go back in and talk to him, or do you want to stay out here for a while longer?”

Lee wanted to stay, so they did. It was exhilarating: For once, Percy was letting Lee call the shots. Even though it was freezing out here, even though he probably wanted to go inside, Percy was willing to stay with Lee. To stay _outside_.

They headed to a nearby hedge, where they brushed the snow off of a stone bench and sat down. For a while, they simply sat in silence, shivering in the wind as it danced around their winter coats. 

“Is it what you imagined?” asked Percy.

“No,” Lee replied. “I didn’t imagine much.” He closed his eyes. “I couldn’t remember what wind felt like. But. . . but now that I’m in it, I can’t imagine ever forgetting.” He opened his eyes and turned his head to Percy. “Thank you.”

Percy reached out and took Lee’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

They fell into silence. Percy let go of Lee’s hand, and the two men sat there in the biting wind.

Then, “Why do you think you ran?” asked Percy.

Lee shot him a confused glance. “Because I wanted to get some exercise?”

“Forgive me, poor choice of words. I meant at first, when you tried to escape.”

Guilt and anger sputtered to life in Lee’s stomach. He looked away.

“We have this whole yard,” Percy said. “Why, at the first opportunity, try to get away? You knew the limits of the hex.”

The whistling of the wind filled the silence.

“Lincoln?”

“I saw freedom, all right?” Lee replied, frustration lacing his voice. “I saw the outside world, and I saw freedom, and I wanted it. I wanted to get away.”

“But you have freedom,” Percy said. “You just got a good run in, and you looked free as a bird to me.”

“Birds can fly over that wall,” Lee said, and he waved to the distant wall that surrounded the Northwest grounds.

“True,” Percy conceded.

“So I’m not free.”

Percy didn’t answer for a long moment. “Cipher told me about his offer to you,” he finally said.

The toxic mix of guilt and anger and fear and desperation swirled inside of Lee. “You mean his offer to make me the perfect prisoner, so you won’t have to worry about me anymore?”

“This isn’t about me,” Percy replied. “You’re destroying yourself, Lincoln. I think if you—”

“ _You’re_ destroying me!” Lee snapped. “My amnesia is destroying me! I need my memory back, not some stupid deal with Bill!”

“You can’t get your memory back,” Percy said quietly, sadly. “Cipher told you the pathways were gone, didn’t he? There is no way to restore your memory.”

“Shut up,” Lee demanded. “Don’t say that.”

“You know it’s true.”

A rush of anger sent Lee to his feet. “I don’t _care_!” he shouted, and he stormed off.

Of course he cared. But he didn’t want to think about it. Even though he told Bill he’d consider his offer, Lee had attempted to shove it from his mind since he woke up that morning. Now, it all came back to him at a dizzying speed: The paralyzing idea that, true to Bill’s word, Lee’s memory really was gone forever. The guilt that, even with Percy’s kindness in bringing him outside, Lee had still tried to escape at the first opportunity. And, finally, the faint hope that this deal with Bill really could make life bearable.

“Lincoln.” Percy had followed him, and now he moved to look Lee in the eye. “The deal sounds sensible to me — even merciful. You won’t hurt yourself with ineffective escape attempts. You won’t get distracted by this constant desire for what you can’t have. You’ll no longer be haunted by your lost memory. Cipher is offering you a new chance.”

“A chance to do what? Sit around and stare at a stone ceiling all day?”

“Of course not,” Percy said. “Look at where you are! We’re outside! Once I redraw the hex, you’ll have more freedom than ever! Are you really going to ruin it by fighting for more?”

Lee looked away.

“This deal is a wonderful opportunity from Cipher,” Percy finished. “I think you’ll be a lot happier if you take it.”

Lee leaned forward into the wind. “Wouldn’t I be happier outside, too?”

“You are outside.” Lee could hear the frown in Percy’s voice.

That disappointed tone managed to check him. “Right,” he said hurriedly, not wanting to seem ungrateful. “Outside the walls, I mean. Out in town.”

He glanced up to see Percy shake his head. “No, I don’t think you’d be at all happier there,” his caregiver said. “You can’t get your memory back. Cipher confirmed as much. You would get out there and then be miserable as you tried to find it.”

Lee knew what came next. “And then I’d hurt people out of anger,” he said quietly. Shame arose in his chest.

Percy nodded slowly. “With this deal, a lot of your anger and rash desires would be gone. It would make you a lot less dangerous.”

When Lee didn’t respond, Percy patted his shoulder. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested. “I’ve enjoyed being out here with you, but I’ve been frozen for quite some time.”

With the relentless wind on his face, Lee had to agree. He stood up, and the men went inside through the same door they came out. A rush of warm air greeted them, flushing their faces and sending droplets of snow dripping off their coats. Lee blew on his numbed fingers, and they tingled in the heat.

Percy led Lee to the kitchens, where they found a cook ready with hot chocolate for them. Lee sipped the burning liquid with reverence, for this was the first time he’d had hot chocolate since losing his memory. Receiving deliciousness by price of a burned tongue felt natural to Lee, despite having no particular memories of it.

The cook told them where to find Gabriel, so they went in search of him after finishing their hot chocolate. Upon finding him, they worked out arrangements for Lee to return to the Northwest grounds: So long as he left whenever asked, he was welcome to come. Lee’s earlier anger subsided as he imagined all the new freedoms he would have here. His heart fluttered hopefully in his ribcage.

After their conversation with Gabriel, they went back to the Order. Lee’s mood sank a bit when he re-entered the stone passages of the compound, but it rose again when Percy offered to redo the hex. Now, the boundaries would include the kitchen and the Northwest Manor.

Lee’s stomach buzzed with excitement.

After Percy redid the hex, Lee immediately wanted to go to the kitchen. “Do you want me to find you a different coat, or does that one work?” Percy asked as they walked together.

“This one works,” Lee replied.

“Good.”

They came to a stop outside the kitchen. Lee took half a step inside, just to make sure he could. 

“I have to go now,” Percy said, “but whatever you make in there, save some for me, all right?”

“Will do,” Lee replied.

“And I won’t have to rush back here to save you from yourself again, will I?”

Lee glanced down at his wrist. The new hex design still glistened with fresh ink.

“No,” he said decisively. He might be tempted, but he wouldn’t give in to those urges. He wouldn’t maim himself to escape, no matter his desperation.

Percy nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you tonight, then.” He left.

Lee spent the rest of the day cooking. The Northwest cook had given him some recipes to try out, but he found he liked experimenting with his own ideas. Even when it turned out disastrous, the food still tasted good to him — because it was _his_.

As he worked, he tried to keep his mind away from Bill’s deal; but his efforts were in vain. With all this time on his hands, how could he not think about it?

This deal would make Lee’s life easier — but it would also reinforce his status as a prisoner. It would be an acceptance of his lost memory. Intellectually, he knew that if Bill (who couldn’t lie) told him his memory was gone forever, then it was gone forever. Emotionally, he refused to accept it. He _couldn’t_ accept it. He couldn’t resign himself to captivity, either.

But, then, did his resignation change anything? When he really thought about it, when he looked reality in the face, did his resistance do anything to help his situation? Six months of fighting, and he hadn’t gotten out of here. The hex served as his relentless warden, refuting any attempts at escape. It seemed hopeless.

Maybe if Bill changed Lee’s mind for him, then he wouldn’t be so desperate, so despairing.

If Bill changed Lee’s mind, though, then Lee would have to promise to stop his escape attempts. At first, he thought he could take Bill’s deal and then break it at the first opportunity for escape. But something deep inside of him told him that it wouldn’t work. That if he took Bill’s deal, he’d have to keep his side.

He didn’t _have_ to make the deal, right? He had so much more room to roam now. He could make his own food, go outside practically whenever he wanted, and talk to the people up in the Northwest Manor. The loneliness, the boredom, the feeling of being trapped — those were all in the past.

No, he decided. He wouldn’t take Bill’s deal. He didn’t need it. He was, if not entirely free, _more_ free: That would make him happier. Then, with more freedom, maybe he could make his escape. Maybe he could get his memory back after all.

It was a masterful self-deception.

Lee almost believed it.


	3. Chapter 3

The weeks went by. Lee visited the Northwest Manor grounds almost every day, even in the freezing wind and snow. Percy bought a large supply of kitchen ingredients for him, too; Order members would often stop by the kitchen to find out where all the wonderful smells were coming from. Soon, Lee was interacting with more Order members than he ever had before. He talked to the Northwest servants when he could, too. They were a bit more reluctant, particularly if he interrupted them in the middle of their duties, but they still talked to him.

In all this interaction, Lee found himself to be unfortunately awkward in conversation. For six months, after all, he’d only had Percy to talk to — and Gaston at times, but he rarely said anything, so he didn’t much count. (Even now, when Lee visited the Northwest Manor, he only caught occasional glimpses of the boy.) These stumbling attempts at conversation, however, only made Lee more determined to practice. He found he loved talking with people, even if he _was_ awkward.

At first, Lee was so thrilled to have more space in his bounds that he hardly noticed that there were still bounds. He reached his limits on occasion: Some places in the Northwest Manor were excluded from the area of the hex, which he discovered by his wrist flaring green as his body tingled with the dense magic of the barriers. No matter. Boundaries notwithstanding, the Northwest Manor was huge, and its grounds more so. Lee actually felt free.

For a little while.

Time went on; with it, Lee’s exuberance waned. It melted like the snow on the Northwest grounds. Places that had seemed new and exciting became routine — even boring — and the boundaries of the hex once again felt too small for him. When he first realized this change, he panicked. He tried to talk himself out of it. He had plenty of room! He shouldn’t feel so claustrophobic! He should just be grateful for the space he had.

It didn’t work.

The desire to escape resurfaced — and after being hidden for weeks, it felt stronger than ever. Lee found himself standing near the surrounding walls of the Northwest grounds, staring longingly at the sky just beyond the stone.

Stop it, he told himself. Don’t do this to yourself. But he couldn’t seem to stay away.

He told Bill about his problem. The triangle listened and reminded Lee about his deal to change his mind. But Lee didn’t want to hear about that; despite the shame he felt for wanting to escape, he didn’t want to sit back and act like a good little prisoner.

It seemed all Bill wanted to talk about was the deal, so conversations with him only increased Lee’s guilt. Percy, too, would mention Lee’s greater freedom with this new hex, and that also made it worse. What would Percy say if he knew that Lee felt trapped again? Surely he would be disappointed.

Though Lee didn’t want to disappoint Percy, he was simultaneously desperate to escape. The emotional disparity tore him apart.

“You’re driving yourself **insane** , **Blind Eye** ,” Bill would say. “I can **help**.”

To which Lee would respond, “I don’t want to make a deal, okay?”

Bill simply replied, “When your next escape attempt **fails** , will you make a deal with me **then**?”

Lee only glared at him. As the days passed, he would try not to think about Bill’s deal; but it was always there, lingering in the back of his mind.

One day, he saw the first robin of spring. He was out on the Northwest grounds, once again staring at the wall, when a beautiful brown robin flew into view. It perched on the top of the wall and sang a cheerful song. Then it flew away and disappeared behind the stone. It flew away and left Lee standing on the ground, trapped on his side.

That day, the robin stole Lee’s last resolve.

No. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here. He had to get out. It had been at least a month since Percy redid the hex; maybe the magic was weakening. Surely it was weaker to begin with, since it had more area to cover. Maybe, if he just pushed hard enough, he could get through.

He waited until the night to make his escape. He didn’t want Percy to know: Not only would he come and stop him, but he’d be so disappointed when he did. It hurt Lee enough to leave Percy like this, and seeing that disappointment would be even worse. So he hoped that Percy would sleep through the green light appearing on his wrist, and he crept from his bed in the middle of the night with nothing but his pocket flashlight to guide him.

The white light cut through the darkness with its tiny beam. Lee carefully made his way to the passage that led to the Northwest Manor, emerging from the tapestry to a dark and empty hallway. He had no idea if anyone was still awake, but he walked quietly just in case. In the darkness, with only the pocket light to guide his way, the Manor felt ominous. It seemed anything could jump out at him from behind a shadowy tapestry.

He scoffed silently to himself. Come on, Lee. Don’t get cold feet now. Are you really going to chicken out of your chance to escape just because the Manor is a little scarier at night?

No Northwests or servants crossed his path, and he made it through the Manor with no incident. He eased open the door that stood between him and the grounds, pleased with himself that he hadn’t alerted anyone to his presence. Stepping outside, he quietly closed the door behind him.

An alarm started blaring.

He cursed. Alarms! He hadn’t thought about alarms. After all, he wasn’t trying to break in: He was trying to get _out_. But the security system didn’t care which direction he was going. It only cared that he was an intruder on the Northwest grounds. The alarm continued to wail.

Lee ran around to the gate, his heart pounding in his chest. It’s okay, he told himself. He could get off the property before the Northwests caught him. He could still get out of here; he just had less time to do so.

The gate was closed, and Lee cursed again. Of course it would be closed. He skidded to a stop, changing directions mid-step and running for the wall instead. Lee had studied the wall before, and he figured the rough stones would offer plenty of hand- and footholds. Well, now was the time to prove that theory.

He threw himself onto the wall.

The stones were mercifully dry, but the cold seeped immediately into Lee’s hands. He easily ignored it — the blaring alarm made it hard to focus on anything else, anyway. The wails chased Lee up the wall.

As he climbed, his wrist glowed a faint green. The color grew deeper with each inch, but Lee never felt any magical resistance. His hopes rose with his body: Maybe, if the magic wasn’t stopping him now, it wouldn’t stop him at all. Maybe the barrier was in front of the wall, and Lee had already gotten through it.

Then he reached the top.

He first felt the resistance as he put his hands on the highest stones. A tremble of magic rushed from his fingers to his toes, but he refused to let go. He kept going: left knee, then right knee, then push forward. The wall was so wide that he had plenty of room to balance himself atop the stones, but the magic didn’t like that. It tried to push him away.

Lee fought against the barrier — which was not in front of, not behind, but _on top_ of the wall — and was quickly entrapped in the enchantment. The alarm propelled him forward; the hex’s magic pushed him back. He pulled himself laboriously to his feet to give himself a better angle as he shoved against the barrier, but the magic was as dense and unyielding as ever. It surrounded him, pushing back with as much force as he. His wrist flared with a deep green.

Through it all, the sound of the alarm deafened him. He had to get through the barrier — had to get away from that sound — but he couldn’t. When he pushed, the pernicious hex shoved right back. It wanted to throw him off the wall entirely — into the sea of sound that filled the Northwest grounds.

But that sound, he realized with a rush of fear, wouldn’t create a cushion for him. If he fell backwards from this wall, he would tumble headlong to the hard ground below.

He pushed harder against the barrier, though he could feel exhaustion overtaking him. “Let me go,” he said through gritted teeth. “Come on! Let me through!”

The hex on his wrist responded by flaring brighter. Its green light blinded him.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the light, and he wished he could block out the wail of the alarm as well. His tired body couldn’t do this much longer, he knew. But he couldn’t give up.

His arms shook. His legs shook. His whole body shook.

He mustered all his remaining strength and gave one last shove against the barrier. “Let me _go_!”

The hex refused. Its magic pushed back at him. Lee’s strength was spent, and he was thrown away from the barrier. He flew into the open air, borne by the force of the magic.

Then he fell.

For a moment, he could hear the shouts of the Northwest servants, roused from their beds by the alarm. They rushed towards him, but they were too far away to catch him. Nothing would catch him, he realized: nothing but the ground. A million emotions rushed through him at once. Fear, dread, anguish, despair: All of these and more warred within his chest. A thousand thoughts zipped in and out of his brain in the time it took him to fall.

Then he hit the ground, and all thought left him as his mind turned off.

~~~~~

He had a concussion. And a broken leg. Lee woke up in his bed back at the Order headquarters to find Percy Pleasure standing over him, his face drawn with worry. A doctor was there, too; she was nice enough, but she asked Lee too many loud questions. All he wanted to do was sleep. His brain was too fuzzy to focus on anything.

The minutes blurred into hours, which blurred into days. Lee slept, but that annoying doctor kept waking him up. He wasn’t sure why, even though she patiently explained it to him every time he asked. Her words slid from his mind like rain on a window pane. He lost track of when she was there and when she was gone. Percy was in and out, too, but Lee couldn’t remember when.

Slowly, he regained his awareness. He learned that the doctor’s name was Eleanor Pleasure, and that she was Percy’s wife. She repeated this fact to Lee every time he asked — which was often — until he finally remembered. He also learned that on the night of his fall, Percy was visited by Bill Cipher, who sent him and Eleanor to help Lee. With the help of the Northwest servants, who had witnessed the fall, Lee was brought safely back to the Order headquarters.

Safely back to captivity.

Lee wondered if Bill would visit him, too, and push for Lee to take his deal — the one Lee had refused. But he didn’t appear. In fact, Lee couldn’t remember his dreams at all.

Regardless, his concussion healed fairly quickly. Eleanor watched over him constantly for the first few days, then visited him a few times a day, then only visited once a day. It took a few weeks, but then Lee felt lucid again. The fog in his brain was gone.

He couldn’t get out of bed, though. His leg was still broken.

The boredom set in.

Eleanor brought him crutches; but he couldn’t get through the Northwest passage with them, and it was hard to cook on them. It was hard to do _anything_ with them. So he mostly stayed in his bedroom, lying still as the boredom and loneliness tore through him.

With that boredom came a _lot_ of thinking time — more thinking time than Lee would ever wish for. Without anything to focus on, Lee’s brain replayed the night of his failed escape on repeat, until he wanted to tear the memory out of his head forever. He saw it whenever he closed his eyes: the moonlit forest just outside the Northwest walls, waiting for him, before he fell off and hit the ground again and again and again.

He was restless, too. Abundantly restless. His days of running through the Northwest grounds were behind him, and sometimes it felt as if they would never return. He had to _move_. But he couldn’t. In his impatience, he couldn’t even bounce his leg — unless he wanted unnecessary pain.

Percy visited multiple times a day, which helped with the loneliness; but he always brought with him a look of disappointment and sadness. “I thought you were past this,” he said heavily. “I thought you were done hurting yourself.”

“I was,” Lee said. Frustrated anger tore through him. “I would be, if you’d let me go!”

Percy looked at him sadly. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said. “But,” he added, “you could be. If you took Cipher’s deal.”

Cipher’s deal. Percy kept bringing it up. He seemed to hold it up as the ideal next step. It wouldn’t heal Lee’s broken leg — only time and proper care could do that — but it would, according to Percy, heal his restlessness and boredom. It would stop the constant flashbacks to the night of the escape attempt.

With every day that Lee was stuck in bed, stuck in loops of endless time, he found himself believing this. Hoping for it, even. Percy seemed to have Lee’s best interests at heart: If he advocated for this, then wasn’t it the best option?

Slowly, Lee’s desperation to escape underwent a transformation. Now, instead of an all-consuming desire to escape, the feeling simmered in Lee’s mind as a longing to take Bill’s deal. He just wanted relief from this awful captivity in his own mind. If he took the deal, it meant he couldn’t escape from the Order. . . but wasn’t that already the reality? His escape attempts had all cost him: first, the exhaustion from fighting the barrier; then, a self-inflicted gash in his arm; and now, a concussion and a broken leg. Maybe it was better to take the deal — and stop trying to escape — than to continue this destructive pattern.

This new desperation to take Bill’s deal blistered in Lee’s mind; soon, giving into his captivity in the Order felt a million times more desirable than living one more moment with this terrible frustration. He waited in mental anguish for his dreams to return — and with them, Bill Cipher.

Then, one month after that fateful night on the Northwest wall, he once again found himself in the dreamscape.

He stood in the Northwest grounds, staring up at the wall. The stones shifted around, and Lee couldn’t see any ledges with which to climb over; but he felt he had to try. He approached the wall, determination in his step.

The stones kept shifting, until they began to form a shape: A large triangle appeared in the wall. A few scattered patches of stone lit up in yellow, and Bill Cipher floated towards him.

“You **failed** ,” he said.

“No,” said Lee; he wasn’t lucid yet. “No, I can get through. Just let me—”

He started for the wall, but Bill’s arm grew and wrapped around Lee’s chest, pulling him back. “ **Blind Eye**. You’re **dreaming**. I can **finally** visit you again. Remember? You’re lying back at the Order with a broken leg.”

Lucidity rushed to Lee’s mind. “Oh.” His face fell. “Right,” he said morosely.

Bill moved to face Lee. “Don’t be **sad** ,” he said. “You’ve been **waiting** for this, **remember**? I’m **here** now.”

With his newfound lucidity, Lee’s desperate decision — the desire to take Bill’s deal — floated to the surface of his mind. Yet. . . it brought with it an uncertainty. Now that the opportunity was finally here. . . was he really going to do this?

“I. . . I have been waiting,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

Bill seemed to understand everything he didn’t say. “Do you want to take my **deal**?” he prompted.

Yes, Lee’s thoughts replied. Yes, I want to take the deal — I want to be free! Never mind that the freedom would be an illusion; anything would be better than his present situation.

But still he hesitated. “I. . . I don’t know,” he said.

Bill shook his head. “Don’t **lie** to me, **Blind Eye**. You **do** know. You **do** want to take this deal. You **know** that it’s the only way you can **possibly** survive this.”

Lee was silent, but his thoughts screamed at him that Bill was right. This deal would make life bearable. That’s all Lee wanted, at this point — because right now, his life was killing him.

Bill put out his hand. It lit up with blue fire. He waited, silent and expectant, for Lee to take it.

Instead, Lee eyed the blue fire with a mixture of apprehension and longing. “If I do this,” he said, “I won’t want to escape anymore?” At this point, he didn’t know if that would be a good thing or a bad thing.

Bill nodded. “If you agree that you will **stay** within your **bounds** ,” he said, “I will alter your mind to be able to **bear** your situation. You will no longer **desire** your memory back. You’ll be **satisfied** with the boundaries given to you. Your frustrations with this will be **gone**.”

Satisfied. How long had it been since Lee had felt satisfied? He had when he’d first gone to the Northwest grounds, but that seemed so long ago; he now had difficulty believing he had _ever_ felt satisfied. While the deal sounded so final — even defeating — Lee’s soul yearned for it all the same. He _needed_ Bill’s promises of satisfaction and ease.

The blue fire, still licking Bill’s hand, reflected off his stony body. “I think you’ve already **decided** ,” Bill said. “Now it’s time to **act**.”

Time to act. A month ago, that would’ve meant it was time to escape. But now. . . now that his escape attempts had all failed. . .

Lee looked down at his left wrist. Here in the dreamscape, the hex design was fuzzy and undefined — but it was still there. The black ink glistened in the blue glow of Bill’s fire.

He clenched his hand into a fist and wrenched his eyes away. Bill was right. He’d already decided: and he’d chosen relief. Before he could doubt himself, he held out his other hand. “Okay,” he said. “Deal.”

He took Bill’s hand.

The fire spread across both hands, but Lee didn’t feel any heat — in fact, the blue flame was almost cold. It grew until the fire licked around Bill’s entire body. Flakes of grey fell from the triangular form, revealing more patches of glowing yellow underneath.

“Oh, that feels **wonderful** ,” Bill said. “ **Thank you,** **Blind Eye.** ”

“What — what just happened?” Lee had expected an instant relief, but he felt only a nagging trepidation.

“I just **solved** your problem,” Bill said. “When you wake up, you’ll feel only **contentment**.”

Now, a small bit of relief appeared. “It worked?”

“ **Indeed** ,” Bill said. “You’ll see for yourself in the morning.”

And so he did.

Hours later, Lee’s eyes opened to darkness. Without any light, it took him a moment (as it always did) to decide whether or not he was truly awake. But, as usual, he quickly figured it out: Being awake meant feeling the dull pain in his broken leg.

Typically, once he realized that he was awake, it would fill him with dread. Another day: another fourteen hours doing nothing. Another day, wondering if anyone would visit him — yet simultaneously hoping that no one did. Lee waited for that awful feeling to kick in.

It never appeared.

His eyes widened. Wait — the deal. He had taken the deal. And Bill. . . Bill had said he would wake up contented.

Lee searched his feelings to see if Bill had told the truth and — to his utter relief — found that he had. Not only did he feel content (even vaguely happy), he could hardly remember the painful, frustrated restlessness that had plagued him for a month.

He let out a disbelieving laugh. “It. . . it worked!” he whispered to himself.

Sitting up in bed, waiting for someone to bring a lantern and illuminate his room, Lee found that he didn’t even feel impatient. None of his horrible, negative feelings were anywhere to be found. The pure fact that he felt good filled him with relief, making him feel even better. It worked. The deal had worked. It had been the right choice.

Soon enough, his door opened, revealing Percy with a lantern and an enthusiastic expression. “Cipher told me what happened,” he said. “You did it, Lincoln — you took the deal!”

He said it with such a tone of joy that Lee couldn’t help but grin at him. “I did,” he said.

Percy hung the lantern above Lee’s bed. “How do you feel?” he asked eagerly.

The question brought such a feeling of relief that Lee found tears in his eyes. “I feel great,” he said. Was that the first time he’d said that since waking up with no memory? It must be. “I feel great,” he repeated. “I. . . I didn’t know I could feel this good.”

A broad smile stretched across Percy’s face. “Lincoln,” he said, and Lee could hear the emotion in his voice, “I’m so happy for you.” He bent down and, careful of Lee’s leg, gave him a gentle hug.

Never had Percy’s arms felt so inviting. “He did it,” Lee whispered. “He really can help.”

“I tried to tell you.” Percy pulled back from the hug, the smile still on his face. “Cipher can help with anything.”

Lee nodded.

His eyes flicked to his crutches, which were within arm’s reach should he want to use them. He still wanted to walk again, of course — but he found he didn’t have the same impatience for it that he did before.

Percy noticed the look. “I’d love to walk with you for a bit,” he said. “First, can I see your wrist?”

For the first time since waking up, Lee felt a bit of anxiety in his stomach. “Why?” he asked, but he held out his left arm (for he knew Percy was talking about his hex).

Percy pulled a chair over to Lee’s bed and sat in it. He looked intently in Lee’s eyes. “Lincoln,” he said, “do you want to leave the Order?”

Lee expected the usual rush of emotions that came with questions like this. They didn’t come. Instead, he found himself calmly considering the concept. “Not particularly,” he said. Part of him was amazed that he would say this; the larger part of him thought it was a sensible answer.

“So if I deactivated the hex, would you try to run?”

This time, a bit of anxiety splashed against Lee’s chest. Would he? Suddenly, the idea of escaping became his source of unease, rather than the idea of staying here.

“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t run.” His gaze turned hopeful. “Would. . . would you really take it off?”

Percy nodded, and the broad smile returned. “I don’t think you need it anymore,” he said. “Of course, I’m not sure it matters either way, since I doubt you would go near the boundaries as it is. But it would be nice to have it gone, would it not?”

Lee nodded, though he realized Percy was right: It really didn’t matter either way.

Percy took Lee’s arm and ran a finger over the hex. “Masterful work, if I do say so myself,” he murmured. “But I look forward to not having my arm randomly light up. It makes my work day rather awkward.” He glanced up at Lee. “Let’s get rid of it, shall we?”

Another nod, but not an enthusiastic one. After so many months of thinking about the hex — of fighting against the hex — of hating the hex — after so many months, Lee didn’t care anymore.

Or so he thought. Lee felt Percy press a gentle but deliberate finger to his wrist. The black ink bled away until there was nothing left, and a profound relief replaced it. Lee stared at his wrist — clear of any marks — and found himself fighting back tears again. “Thank you,” he said to Percy.

“Of course,” Percy said. He held up his own wrist: no hex. “Now, let’s go for a walk.”

He helped Lee up, helped him get situated on his crutches. Then they went walking. Their pace was slow: Lee’s broken leg still wasn’t sure it liked this whole walking thing. But Percy didn’t show any impatience — and, for once, neither did Lee. Instead, they walked slowly and amiably (and haltingly, in Lee’s case) through the halls of the Order headquarters.

Lee’s heart lightened with every step.

Content. It was just like Bill had promised: He was finally content. Finally satisfied. Not once, during his entire walk with Percy, did he wish he could go up those stairs and into the town above. Not once did he think about the life he had lost or wonder how he could regain his memory.

He was still a prisoner. A willing one, at that. Yet. . . he didn’t feel imprisoned. With Bill’s deal, he had no more restlessness, no more frustration.

With Bill’s deal, he finally felt free.


	4. Chapter 4

**WINTER 2013**

“I’ve known your brother my entire life.”

Gideon’s words hung over the room like a bristly blanket, trapping his audience in shock. He watched Mabel and Stanford as they realized the implications of his statement. Their expressions were just as bad as he’d feared. He was glad that he finally got to see Mabel’s face again — but he didn’t want to see it like this.

“What?” Ford finally said.

“He’s been here all along,” Gideon said. It didn’t get any easier the second time he admitted it. This. . . this was unheard of. This was _blasphemy_. By telling the Pines what he had told them, Gideon was signing his death warrant. No — not his death warrant. Bill needed him alive. His torture warrant, then. Bill was going to ensure that he went through enough pain that he’d _wish_ he were dead.

“What are you saying?” whispered Mabel. Hope and horror warred in her eyes.

Gideon found himself growing frustrated. “I’m saying, I know where he is. Or — where he usually is. I don’t know where he is right now.”

“Where is he usually, then?” Ford’s tone was stringent, urgent, pleading — all at once.

This was the second part of the taboo. By claiming he knew Ford’s brother, he’d already broken it; by telling them what he was about to tell them, he was digging his grave even deeper.

When he hesitated, Stanford grabbed his shoulders. “Gideon. Please. Please, I need to know. Where is my brother?”

Gideon bit his lip. “Underground,” he finally said. “In the. . . in the Order Headquarters. He’s the leader of the Order.”

Ford’s grip slackened; his hands fell to his sides.

“But — Pacifica’s the leader,” Mabel protested.

“Do you really think Bill would entrust his cult to a twelve-year-old?” Gideon countered. “She’s not the real leader; this is just a test run. She’s Lincoln’s apprentice.”

Ford stiffened. Gideon wondered why, for a moment, before remembering that the name ‘Lincoln’ was bound to be foreign to the Pines. Sure enough, “What did you call him?” asked Ford.

"Lincoln," Gideon said. His voice was much stronger than his resolve. "He goes by Blind Lincoln. I'd never even heard the name 'Stanley' used for him until Mabel told me the night of the Northwest Gala."

Ford caught himself on the wall, as if his outstretched hand were the only thing keeping him upright.

Mabel, however, stepped forward. Her shock seemed to be giving way to her rising anger. "Why didn't you tell me that night?" she demanded. "If you knew, if you've known this whole time, then why did you give me your Journal? Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

Gideon flinched. This. This was what he was dreading. Not Bill's wrath, not his father's torture — those were in the distant future, and he didn't have to worry about them right now. No, he dreaded Mabel's reaction. He dreaded the look on her face as she realized that he had once again betrayed her.

Her expression demanded an answer. "I don't know," he finally said. It was true enough. He knew a few reasons why, but he didn't have a full explanation.

By indication of Mabel's trembling anger, that answer wasn't good enough. But it would have to do for the moment, for Stanford had straightened again. "You said that's where he usually is," he said, "but you don't know where he is right now?"

"I don't," Gideon confirmed. "He left before the Northwest Gala. I. . . I guess Bill wanted him out of the way when you discovered the Order."

"Why?" It was a shout, full of fury. "If I'd known, I never would have turned on the portal! If Bill didn't want me turning on the portal, he should have let me find my brother!"

Gideon didn't bother calming Stanford; the man needed to be angry right now. "I don't think the portal was ever the real problem. Bill didn't want you turning it on — all the Order's been talking about for the past four days is how to stop you — but that wasn't as important as keeping Lincoln — Stanley — away from you." He took a breath. "You have to understand, Stanford, that what I'm doing right now. . . my telling you about this. . . I'm going against the number one rule in the Order."

"What do you mean?" came the clipped reply.

"I mean that before someone is inducted into the Order, Bill shows up in their dreams, tells them about Lincoln being your brother, and makes them promise never to tell you. Never to even mention it around Lincoln. If Bill doesn't think they can keep that promise, he has me wipe them."

"And you do it?" Ford demanded.

"Of course I do it! You have no idea what threats I'm under if I don't! You have no idea what Bill is going to do to me now that I've told you!"

If he expected a thank you for his risk, he didn't get one. But he didn't expect one, not really. He doubted it was possible for Ford to thank anyone for anything right now.

"If I'm such an enemy to the Order, how does Lee never mention me?" Ford asked.

"He does," Gideon said. "He just. . . doesn't mention that you're his brother. And he almost never leaves Order headquarters, so that's why you haven't seen him. He's very seclusive."

"That's not like Stanley at all," Mabel protested, as if she knew what Stanley was like. "Right, Grunkle Ford? That's not — Gideon, are you _sure_?"

"Of course I'm sure," Gideon snapped. "He looks just like Stanford. Would I risk running away from my father to tell you something I wasn't sure about?"

Mabel flinched. Whether from Gideon's tone, or from mention of Gaston, or from further confirmation of this awful news, Gideon wasn't sure. Likely all three.

"I'm sorry," he said softly to her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. I'm. . . I'm sorry I didn't make it here before you opened the portal." The anomalies, having so graciously allowed Gideon to escape the manor, had stopped soon after he left the grounds. When that had happened, he'd known that he was too late.

Silence descended on the room. Mabel looked away from Gideon. Ford stood there, his muscles tense, his face cloudy as he thought.

"Stanford," Gideon said, before anyone else broke the silence, "I need to ask a favor of you. My father is going to come after me when he realizes I'm gone, and he's going to guess where I went. I need. . . Can you give me a place to hide?"

Ford blinked as Gideon's words pulled him out of his reverie. He opened his mouth to respond, but, "We can put him in the basement," Mabel blurted. "He should be safe there, right?"

"Is that where the portal is?" Gideon hadn't found any basement while searching for the first Journal, back when Pacifica stole the Museum from the Pines.

Ford nodded and gestured to the Employees Only door. “It’s through there, behind the vending machine. You wouldn’t go down to the portal, though. You’d stay on the top level.”

“How would I be safe in there?” Gideon asked. He doubted anywhere could be safe, given that Bill knew where he was at all times.

“Only I know the code to get behind the vending machine,” Ford said, “and Bill can’t see into my mind.”

That sounded familiar. Gideon tilted his head, trying to remember.

“He has a metal plate in his head,” Mabel said when she saw his confused expression. “It keeps Bill out.”

Gideon nodded in recognition. Now he remembered: When Pacifica had first summoned Bill, the demon had told them about Stanford’s metal plate. “You’re welcome to stay in the room behind the vending machine,” Ford said. “No one would be able to get in unless you opened the door for them.”

“Perfect,” Gideon said.

“But, if you come out for anything, you won’t be able to get back in,” Ford warned him. “I’ll be out looking for Stanley.”

Both Gideon and Mabel looked up at him in surprise. “Now?” asked Mabel.

“When else?”

“But we don’t know where he is,” Gideon pointed out.

“Then I’ll find him. Bill won’t be able to track me.”

“But Grunkle Ford, you can’t go alone,” Mabel protested. “It’s too dangerous. You’re still injured.”

Ford scowled. “I’ll be fine. I’ll ask the supernatural creatures for help.”

“They don’t know about Lincoln,” Gideon said. “Usually the leader of the Order is a sort of diplomat to the supernatural, but not Lincoln. He stays hidden in the Order headquarters. Wherever he is, Bill would’ve made sure that only he and Lincoln knew where that was. Your best bet is to wait for him to come back.”

“And when’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Gideon said. “Bill knows I’ve told you about Lincoln. He’ll probably try to keep him away from you as long as possible. But it’s chaos out there, from what I saw, and the Order needs Lincoln’s leadership to get things under control.”

Ford’s brow furrowed. “Then I’ll go to the Order,” he said, “and I’ll wait there.”

“What?” Mabel burst out. “Grunkle Ford, Pacifica’s there! She’ll hurt you!”

“I can take care of her,” Ford said tightly. “She doesn’t have her fancy memory gun anymore, so she can’t make me forget.”

That caught Gideon’s attention. “Memory gun?”

Ford glanced to him. “Yes, she had a gun that erased memories. She was going to make me forget about Stanley all over again, but we destroyed it before that could happen. Did you not know about it?”

Gideon’s mouth set into a thin line. “No, but some strange things make sense now.” He met Ford’s eyes and added, “Stanford, don’t. . . don’t hurt Pacifica. She’s just doing what Bill tells her. Don’t hurt her.”

Ford grimaced. “If she stays away from me, I won’t. But I haven’t forgotten how good she is at torturing people.”

“Then why would you go anywhere near her?” cried Mabel.

Ford put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Because I’m not going to find Stanley here.” He looked to Gideon. “Let’s get you to the basement.”

He gestured for Gideon to follow, then led him into the gift shop. Mabel joined them, much to Gideon’s relief. Maybe she would be willing to join him in the basement. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Gideon and Mabel stood aside as Ford approached the vending machine and typed a code into the selection pad. The machine swung forward, revealing a simple passage behind.

Ford stepped inside and flicked a switch, which illuminated a lightbulb overhead. “Those stairs lead down to the elevator,” he said, pointing out a staircase that descended to the left. “You’re welcome anywhere in this top area, but don’t go down the elevator, understood? Can I have your word?”

As curious as Gideon was to see this portal, he wasn’t so curious as to disobey Stanford, especially when he was offering him protection. “I won’t go near it,” he promised.

“Do you need anything?” Mabel asked. “Some food, or a book?”

A book.

Gideon's stomach flipped as he realized: The first Journal was here. He'd searched desperately for this book, and now it was here. He could finally read it, if he could get his hands on it. And. . . and Mabel was practically _offering_ it to him.

“Gideon?” prompted Mabel.

“Some food would be great,” he said. Before he could second-guess himself, he added, “Could I also read the first Journal?” He glanced to Stanford.

The Author nodded. Excitement flared in Gideon’s chest.

Mabel left to go get the items, and Gideon waited in silence with Ford. Mabel soon returned with the first Journal, a plastic container of food, and a fork. “We only have cold leftovers, but they’re Melody’s leftovers,” she said, as if that meant it were a gourmet meal. Gideon eyed the container dubiously — he doubted it was anywhere close to the quality of food he was used to — but he accepted it nonetheless.

Once the container was safely tucked under Gideon’s arm, Mabel handed him the first Journal. Gideon’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the black “1” on the glinting gold trim. Would it really be this easy? All that searching, and, in the end, all he needed to do was ask nicely? He eagerly grasped the book with his free hand.

It took a moment for Mabel to let go. Her eyes met Gideon’s with an incalculable stare. Then she dropped her hand.

With these supplies, Gideon had no more excuse to delay entering the basement. He stared into the bare room in front of him. Even with the first Journal, he knew that he would get lonely behind the vending machine. His eyes closed briefly, then reopened. He had to ask. She’d probably say no, but he at least had to ask. “Mabel,” he said, turning to her, “will you join me?”

Mabel stared at him with startled eyes. Her surprise bled into apprehension, then pain. “Not yet,” she finally said, her voice halting. “Not now.”

The words swept through Gideon with destructive force. He wanted to ask why, to demand that she come with him — but he stopped himself. He knew why. “Okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t.

“I’ll join you later,” she said. “Maybe. I. . . I don’t know.”

If she didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to blame her. He didn’t deserve her company, after all. That was why she wouldn’t come with him: He had hurt her too much.

But it still stung that she refused him.

Gideon let out a breath and stepped into the room behind the vending machine. The staircase yawned into the darkness beside him, as if inviting him into its lonely abyss. He tore his eyes away from it and looked back to Mabel and Ford. “Thank you, Stanford, for giving me a place to stay. I wish you luck in finding your brother.”

“Thank you for telling me about him,” Ford replied. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Gideon nodded. Then his eyes flicked to Mabel’s face. The pain there was unbearable to see, yet he couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry,” he told her. She didn’t meet his eyes.

Ford closed the door, and Gideon watched Mabel until she disappeared behind the metal. Then he could see only the back of the vending machine.

The locking mechanism clicked into place, and Gideon was alone with his guilt.

~~~~~

Mabel’s eyes lingered on the vending machine. Had she done the right thing? Shouldn’t she have gone with Gideon? He didn’t deserve to be alone.

But. . . she couldn’t. She couldn’t be with him right now. Just the sight of him, after finding out that he’d lied to her, _again_ — it made her sick to her stomach.

Ford left the gift shop, headed for his lab, and Mabel followed him. That was another thing that made her feel sick: Ford was about to leave and go to the Order. He was going to put himself in danger, and for what? Stanley wasn’t even there.

“Grunkle Ford, please don’t go,” she said. Ford kept a brisk pace; she had to hurry to keep up. “Stanley’s not there, and I — I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“Gideon said the Order needs him,” Ford said. “He should be back soon. At the very least, I want Bill to know that I won’t rest until I find my brother. He can’t keep him from me forever.”

They got to the lab; Ford grabbed a stun gun, some knockout patches, and Stan’s brass knuckles. He stared at the brass knuckles for a second before slipping them into his pocket.

“Are you going to give those to him?” Mabel asked.

Ford looked to her, his expression full of pain. “I might have to use them on him,” he said, forcing the words from his throat. “If. . . if he really is the leader of the Order, then he’s. . .”

He didn’t finish that sentence. Mabel’s mind filled it in: Then he’s our enemy. Then he’s on Bill’s side. Then he’s evil.

In a panic, she shoved those thoughts from her mind. Stanley _couldn’t_ be evil. Surely there was some kind of misunderstanding. Surely he couldn’t be on Bill’s side.

Ford put a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Mabel,” he said. “Go and spend some time with Dipper, all right? I’ll be back soon.”

“When?” Mabel asked.

Ford took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” He kissed her forehead, then leaned back and fixed his gaze on hers. “But I’ll come back with Stanley.”

Would he really? What had felt so certain yesterday now felt impossible.

Ford crossed to the lab door that led outside, pulling it open. He looked back at Mabel. “I’ll bring him home,” he promised.

Then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re going to be okay,” said Melody Ramirez, smiling gently at the women in front of her. These women — a mother and her adult daughter, the victims of a recent car crash — returned her gaze with hesitant, vaguely haunted looks.

Melody continued, “If anything starts to hurt more than bruises or scrapes, come find me, all right? I’ll be at the Mystery Museum.” She didn’t think she’d be going back to her own home any day soon — unless she moved the injured Fiddleford there from the Museum, but he probably wasn’t stable enough for that. She had no idea when he would be, either.

An elderly man — the father of the older woman, presumably — came forward and put a hand on Melody’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. To his daughter and granddaughter, he said, “Let’s go back to the house.”

The older woman looked up at him. “What about the car?” she asked. A solemn silence followed, and Melody looked to the car in question. It sat in the middle of the road, surrounded by frantic townspeople whose conversations reached high, panicked pitches. The hood of the car was crumpled in on itself, as if it had run into some kind of wall.

But there was no wall that it could have hit.

In fact, aside from the crowd that had since formed around it, the car was totally alone on the town’s main road. Nearby stood the sign that welcomed visitors to Gravity Rises, but it appeared undamaged; and, anyway, it was too small and too far away from the car to be the cause of the accident. The entire situation was baffling, but Melody hadn’t gotten the chance to ask about it. She’d been brought here by Robbie Corduroy to help the accident victims, and she made sure to do that before worrying about anything else.

Beside her, the younger woman let out a shuddering breath. “How are we going to get home?” she asked quietly.

Melody turned to her. “We have a car,” she said. By ‘we,’ she meant Stanford Pines, but Melody would use his car whether he liked it or not, if it meant helping someone in need. “We can take you home.”

In response to her offer, she got three blank stares. “What’s wrong?” she said. The two women and the elderly man looked at her as if they didn’t know whether or not she had just told a joke; and if she did, it wasn’t a very funny one.

“Melody,” said a nearby voice. Melody turned to see Gregory Corduroy standing nearby. He’d been with the accident victims when Melody had arrived, but he left when she came. Now he had returned, and the look on his face was sympathetic but grave.

“Did I say something wrong?” Melody looked between Greg and the family in utter confusion.

Greg shook his head and put up a hand, indicating for her to wait a moment. To the elderly man, he said, “I can help you push the car out of the road, if you’ll put it in neutral.” He added to Melody, “And we can show you why you can’t drive them home.”

The elderly man chose to take his daughter and granddaughter home first, so Greg and Melody were soon left alone. “I’ll just show you, then,” Greg said, and started heading for the car.

Melody followed him. “If we can’t go to the hospital,” she said, “and I can’t drive them home, then. . . then can we not get out of town?” But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? They were near town boundaries, and she could see the road stretching into the forest beyond. There didn’t appear to be anything that would stop someone from leaving.

But. . . the car crashed into _something_.

Greg led her to the edge of the crowd, and Melody noticed something strange about it. The crowd was congregated around the car, but not in a rough circle as one would expect. Instead, the crowd stretched behind and to the sides of the car. No one was in front of the car: If anyone wanted to look closer at the wreckage, they approached only from the side. Melody could also see people put their hands up in midair, as if they were touching something — although there was only air in front of them.

“Do you see it?” Greg asked quietly.

Melody shot him a confused look. She saw the oddly shaped crowd with its odder-still behavior; aside from that, she didn’t know what he was referring to.

“I guess it’s hard to see from here,” he said, and he led her into the fray, carefully pushing his way to the front of the crowd. Melody followed, catching glimpses of people’s panicked faces as she went. As curious as she was, she was also hesitant. It had been less than an hour since the portal opened: less than an hour since Fiddleford had arrived instead of Stanley. After all that pain and confusion, Melody wasn’t sure she wanted to face yet another mystery — especially one that caused this much uproar.

Still, she followed Greg. They didn’t go near the car — that area was swarmed with people — but they soon came to a stop. Greg slowly put out his hand, shuddering a bit when he stopped. Melody frowned at him, and he gave her a solemn look. “Now do you see?” he said, speaking quietly despite the noise around them. He nodded to his hand.

Melody looked closer. “I see. . . your hand.”

“Look around it,” Greg said. “Or. . . or just come feel it yourself.”

“Are you touching something?” asked Melody. She was thoroughly confused. Looking at his hand, she only saw that: his hand.

Then she noticed the white aura around it.

“What is that?” she asked, leaning in closer.

Greg gently pushed her back with his free hand. “Don’t knock your head. Just reach out with your hand.”

This instruction made the situation no less confusing, but Melody did as he said. She lifted her hand and moved it forward.

Her fingers brushed against something solid.

She pulled her hand back. “What?” She reached out and felt it again: a solid surface, invisible but for the cloudy white color that appeared around her hand. “What is this?” she asked Greg. Rather than alleviate her confusion, this discovery only made it worse.

“This is what the car crashed into,” Greg said. “This invisible wall.”

Melody stared at him as her mind struggled to wrap around this concept. An invisible wall. At the edge of town. The more she thought about it, the more horrifying sense it made: the wrecked car in the middle of the road, the crowd of people spread out along the wall, the reason they couldn’t get to the nearest hospital. She looked out across the crowd again. This time, she could see the white areas around their hands — or their whole bodies, for some people were shoving themselves against the wall in hopes of getting through it.

“It turns white where you touch it,” Greg said, “but it’s otherwise invisible. Those women are lucky they weren’t going any faster, or they could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

Melody’s eyes widened. “You mean they had no idea this was here until they ran into it?” She felt a pang of sympathy. No wonder they’d been so shaken: They’d had absolutely no warning before impact.

“Nobody knew about it until the car wreck,” Greg confirmed. “We don’t know when it appeared, either — but nobody dared leave town during the gravitational anomalies.”

A cold wave swept through Melody. “Are you saying that the portal caused this?”

Greg met her eyes. “It may have,” he replied. “Melody, I need you to be honest with me: Did someone come out of that portal?”

Melody frowned at him. Something about that question. . . it sounded like he knew a lot more about the situation than he was letting on. “If I told you that Stanley came out, just as planned,” she said slowly, “would you believe me?”

Greg hesitated, and in his face she saw the truth. “You knew, didn’t you,” she said quietly. She could hardly hear herself over the din from the surrounding crowd, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak any louder. “You knew Stanley wouldn’t be there.”

She could see him silently considering his options. Finally, he said, “Yes, I knew.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell us?!” Now her volume rose.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he answered simply. “Now, please, Melody: Tell me what happened.”

“And why should I?” she demanded. “Why should I trust you, Gregory Corduroy?” Vaguely, she realized this was the first time she’d seen him since discovering that he was an Order member. Before then, she certainly would have trusted him. Now. . . now, she couldn’t.

“Janice and I are trying to figure out why this wall is here,” Greg said, keeping his voice low so that only Melody could hear him. “If you tell us who came out, that’s another piece in the puzzle.”

“If I tell you,” Melody said, “then you have to tell me where Stanley is.”

Greg’s eyes widened, which told her that he _did_ know where Stanley was. She hadn’t been sure, but now she knew. “Don’t try to hide him,” Melody warned. “Stanford is already in enough pain because of you.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Greg said quickly. “I’m telling the truth,” he added when he saw Melody’s doubtful look. “Listen, Melody — I think I know who came out of that portal, but I need you to confirm it.”

“Who do you think it was, then?” she asked. She wouldn’t let him get away with his lie that easily, but she was willing to wait.

“I never knew him,” Greg said, “but I’ve heard a bit about him from my parents. Fiddleford McGucket.”

Melody gave him a guarded look. “Yes,” she finally said. Her voice turned hard as she continued, “But I _will_ keep him safe. You aren’t getting anywhere near him.”

“We weren’t planning on trying,” Greg said with a shake of his head. He gestured to the crowd around them and the wall to his left. “We have our hands full with all this.”

Melody’s eyes widened. “You aren’t going to wipe their memories, are you?” she said, lowering her voice to a hiss. “You do realize that it would cause more accidents.”

“We’ll do what we’re instructed to do,” Greg said carefully, “but yes, we do realize that. Right now, we’re just trying to keep everyone calm.”

The panicked cries of the people around her reached Melody’s ears. “It doesn’t sound like it’s working,” she pointed out.

“We’re trying,” Greg repeated.

“Dad! Excuse me, I need to get through — Dad!” Robbie made his way through the crowd until he was standing beside Melody. “Dad, Danny Valentino wants to talk to you.”

“Did he find something?” asked Greg. Robbie shook his head, but Greg still moved to leave. “I have to go, Melody,” he said. “Thank you for helping with the accident.”

“Oh, no, sir.” She followed Greg and Robbie out of the crowd, then touched Greg’s shoulder. “ _You_ are going to help us find Stanley.”

“Wait.” Robbie looked between Melody and his dad. “You know where Stanley is?”

“I don’t,” Greg protested.

“But you know something we don’t,” Melody insisted. “Tell me.”

Greg put his hands up in exasperation. “I have to take care of this first,” he said. “The Valentinos are following the wall to see how far it goes. If Danny wants to talk to me, it means he and Janice got in another fight.” With that, he turned his back on Melody and kept walking.

Melody pursed her lips and followed. Fidds needed her back at the Museum, yes — but she couldn’t let a lead like this drop.

It was just as Greg said: Two figures stood on the edge of the road, arguing in low, fast tones. Melody recognized Danny Valentino and Janice Corduroy. Danny was struggling to keep his voice down, and his face was turning brighter than his thick red hair and beard. “I don’t answer to you,” he was saying. “I’ll take my kids out into the forest, and we’ll find a way out of here.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Janice said; her voice was calmer than Danny’s, but it was still strained. “It’s too dangerous.”

Danny opened his mouth to retort, but then he saw Greg approaching with Robbie and Melody. “Greg! Thank goodness _you’re_ here. I’m trying to tell Janice that we can’t just follow this wall forever. We need to go _that_ way” — he pointed opposite the barrier, towards the forest — “and see if we can get out through there. But she seems to believe in the stories of monsters and whatnot in our forest.” He glanced to Melody. “Maybe she’s been spending too much time in Stanford’s Museum.”

Melody frowned. Usually, Danny was nice enough — until he got frustrated. Then he said whatever he wanted about whomever he wanted, and it was rarely anything kind.

“Calm down, Danny,” said Greg. “I’m on your side. But we need to be smart about this.”

Both Janice and Danny turned on him. “You’re on _his_ side?” said Janice, just as Danny said, “Who said I’m not being smart about this?”

Greg put up his hands. “Janice is right to be worried about the creatures out there,” he said. “If you go the wrong way, you can end up seriously hurt. You would need to be careful.”

“Greg, what are you doing?” Janice hissed.

He gave her a serious look. “They’ve already seen enough in the last twenty-four hours. We can’t hide anything for long in this panic.” He looked back to Danny. “Who are you taking? You, your boys, Wendy. . . Can you take Robbie, too?”

Robbie looked surprised, but Danny nodded. “Sure.”

“Robbie, I want you to find someone who knows how far this barrier goes,” Greg said. “The fairies might help in an emergency like this, and the nymphs will listen — the hamadryads especially. They live in trees all over the forest; if you call out long enough, they should respond.” His voice shook a bit, and Melody realized that he wasn’t used to talking so openly about the creatures in the forest.

“What are you talking about?” Danny spluttered.

They ignored him. “What path should we take?” Robbie asked.

“Take the road to the yurt,” Greg instructed. “There should be something that will hear you from there.”

“What are you talking about?” Danny repeated, louder this time.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Robbie said. “Let’s go get Wendy and the boys.”

“Robbie.” Janice waved to him. Robbie shot her a questioning look but went over to her.

Janice gave her son a tight hug. “Be careful,” she said. Melody thought she heard her add in a whisper, “Don’t tell him anything that will make him more angry.”

Robbie stiffened and pulled away. “I’ve known about all this for a while, Mom,” he said, “and _I’m_ still angry.”

“You know what she means,” said Greg. “Stay focused. See what you can find out.”

“And if nobody knows anything?”

“Then come back here,” Janice said, raising her voice so Danny could hear, “and we’ll try something else. I don’t want you going out there blindly.”

“We won’t be blind,” Danny cut in. “I know this forest like the back of my hand.”

All three Corduroys looked to him. “No,” said Janice curtly, “you don’t.”

Danny’s face went red again, but Robbie touched his arm. “Let’s go,” he said. Danny followed him and shot a glare at Janice over his shoulder.

Melody watched them go for a moment, then turned back on the Corduroys. “What’s your plan?” she asked. “We figure out some way to fix this, and then you just wipe a whole day from everyone’s minds? And who knows how long we’ll be trapped in here? A week? A month? You can’t just make everyone forget this.”

Greg and Janice shared a look. “I don’t know what we’ll do,” Greg said to Melody. He looked more helpless than she’d ever seen him. “We’re just trying to figure things out.”

“So are we,” Melody replied. She wanted to ask about Stanley, but she voiced another question. “Why do you think this wall is here?”

Greg glanced at Janice. “There’s a prophecy,” he said. “It mentions something like this. I don’t know if I should tell you more than that.”

Melody took a deep breath, trying to school her frustration. “Is it the Cipher Wheel?” She remembered Andrew the minotaur saying something about a prophecy.

“It’s related,” Janice said carefully.

It was clear Melody wasn’t going to get much else from them about this; besides, there was more important information to be had. “Never mind,” she said. “I have to go.” She needed to get back to Fiddleford. “Just tell me where Stanley is, and I’ll be on my way.”

Janice looked to Greg in alarm. “What?” It wasn’t a question of confusion; it was an accusation. Like Janice was angry with Greg for giving up their secrets.

“You know where he is,” Melody said, “or at least where we can start looking for him. Tell me.” She was rarely this demanding; but when her friends — her family — were in such pain, she’d do anything to heal them.

“We don’t know where he is,” Greg said, a little desperately. “We haven’t seen him for weeks.”

Melody froze. Weeks? Stanford hadn’t seen his brother for thirty years, but for the Corduroys it had only had a few _weeks_? “When?” she asked. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Greg glanced at Janice. “Just before the Northwest Gala,” he said.

Janice grabbed his arm. “Greg, don’t do this,” she hissed.

“Listen, Greg,” said Melody. “Come with me to the Museum. Tell Ford what you know. You don’t understand the kind of pain he’s in right now. You _have_ to help him.”

Greg recoiled. “Help him? After his gravitational anomalies terrorized everyone last night? After his actions helped form this barrier?”

“Those actions would never have _happened_ if you had just _told him about his brother_!” shouted Melody. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so angry.

The Corduroys weren’t used to it, either: They both flinched. Then, “You said you have to go,” Janice said, “and we’re busy here. This will have to wait.” Her eyes flicked around them, and Melody turned to see that her shout had drawn some attention.

“No,” she said, keeping her voice more controlled this time. “I’ll go get Ford myself. Then you have to tell him what you know.”

Greg frowned, his eyes focused on something to Melody’s right. “I don’t think you have to go get him.”

Melody followed his gaze and saw Ford, walking down the street. He was moving away from the Museum. . . headed towards the library.

“What is he doing?” Melody left the Corduroys; she wasn’t done with them, but Ford was her first priority. Why was he going towards the library — towards the Order?

She only went a few steps before Janice Corduroy came up beside her. “Janice? Why are you following me?” Melody quickened her step.

Janice sped up, too. “He looks like he’s trying to get into our headquarters,” she said. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Don’t you dare touch him.” It was clear that Melody couldn’t lose Janice, and she felt a sudden pang of worry: If it came down to it, would she be able to physically defend Ford? Would Janice try to hurt him? Would Melody be able to stop her?

Ford disappeared behind the library long before Janice and Melody reached it. They followed him behind to see him standing at the door, contemplating the lock. To Melody’s relief, Janice came to a stop at the same time that she did. “Ford, what are you doing?” Melody asked.

He turned. “I need to get in,” he said simply. “Who’s this?” He nodded to Janice.

She stepped forward. “Janice Corduroy,” she said. “Robbie’s mother. You’ve brainwashed my son, if you recall.”

He walked right up to her; she didn’t flinch. “And you’re a member of the Order?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He decked her in the face.

With a grunt of pain, Janice fell to the snow. “Ford!” shouted Melody, rushing over to her. She’d wanted to punch Janice in the face herself, she had to admit — but that didn’t mean it was _okay_.

Before she could reach Janice, Ford crouched down beside the woman. He grabbed her chin and lifted her head. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “I know about my brother. I know you’ve been hiding him from me all this time. So you’re going to let me through that door, and I’m going to wait for him to get back. Understood?”

Another shout came from behind them. “Stanford!” Gregory had come around the corner just in time to see Ford intimidating his wife. “Get away from her!”

Ford stood up just as Greg came charging toward him. Moving into a defensive stance, Ford caught Greg as he barreled into him. The men tumbled into the snow, and Janice scrambled away. “Ford, stop!” said Melody, and she ran into the fray, shoving the two men apart. But she couldn’t stop them. It wasn’t until Janice joined in that they were able to break up the fight.

“Just what do you think you were doing, Stanford?” Greg demanded as Janice pulled him back.

“You liar,” Ford spat. “You traitor! You told me it was a _good_ thing I forgot about my brother, when you knew where he was the entire time!”

Greg’s eyes widened. He looked between Ford and Melody: two people who knew something that they weren’t supposed to know. Melody put a comforting hand on Ford’s shoulder, wondering how the Corduroys could hide this from them and still sleep at night.

Ford took a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t even try to deny it,” he said. “My brother’s been here all along, and you knew it, and you still tried to stop me from turning on the portal. You could have just told me where my brother was, but you didn’t.” He fixed the Corduroys with an intense stare. “So. You’re going to let me inside headquarters. I’ll wait there for him in there.”

Melody frowned at him. “In there? Why would you go in there?”

“Because this is where he’s been,” Ford said. “This whole time, he’s been in the Order. He’s not here right now, apparently, but I’ll be here waiting when he comes back.” A challenge flared in his eye. “He has to come back eventually, right?” he said to the Corduroys.

Melody wasn’t sure what to think of this. Yes, she wanted to find Stanley. . . but to go inside the Order to do it? Ford had just escaped from there a few days ago. Melody wasn’t sure she couldn’t let him go back — for her own sanity as well as his safety.

“Well?” Ford said after a moment of silence. “Let me in.”

Greg shook his head. “No one knows where he is, Stanford, or when he’ll be back. I don’t think you should wait for him here.”

“Oh,” Ford said, “so I should just go home, and you’ll come tell me when he gets back?” He took a step closer to Greg, pushing Melody away when she tried to hold him back. “You, who have kept my brother hidden from me for thirty years?”

Greg and Janice glanced to each other. It was clear their resolve was fraying. “I don’t know what we’ll do when he gets back,” Janice said. “That’s up to Lord Cipher.”

Ford’s eyes flared. “I won’t wait for Bill to decide when I get to see my brother,” he said. “He’s already been deciding that for thirty years.” He glared at Greg. “Let me in, Corduroy, and I’ll wait down there.”

“Ford, wait,” said Melody. She moved so she was facing him. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Stay out of this, Melody,” Ford said tightly.

“No, I won’t,” she said. “I know this has been hard, but you’re not thinking clearly — none of us are.”

“I’m thinking clearly enough!” he insisted. He jabbed a finger at the door and glared at the Corduroys. “I need to get inside. _Now_.”

Melody tried again. “This is a lot to process, Ford, I know. You need to—”

“I just want my brother back!” The scream tore from Ford’s throat. His face was red, his expression wild. It broke Melody’s heart all over again, but it also scared her. She wanted Ford to find Stanley, she really did — but she didn’t want him to lose himself in the process. She didn’t want him to put himself in any more danger.

“Ford, please,” she said softly. She stepped towards him and put a hand out.

But her hand froze in shock before it could land on his shoulder.

She stared past Ford as another person moved into view. From the other side of the library, by the tree line, someone appeared as if out of thin air — someone who looked just like Ford.

“I’m right here,” said Stanley Pines.


	6. Chapter 6

Lincoln felt a tug on his soul.

He sat in the cave of prophecies, wondering if the anomalies were over. It _felt_ like it had been about eighteen hours since they had started; but then again, it was hard to estimate time when you were stuck in a dark cave. Still, there hadn’t been anomaly for quite a few minutes, so perhaps they were over. Perhaps he could finally go back to Pacifica and the other Order members and make sure they were okay.

Then the tugging. It felt like someone pinching his skin, or pulling on the back of his winter coat, but it wasn’t a physical sensation. Rather, it was a tug on the very connection between his spirit and his body.

Another tug, then a jerk, then a ripping sound. Lincoln braced himself as he left his body and fell back among the stone floor of the cave — though of course he couldn’t feel the rock.

“Those **scoundrels**!” came Bill’s voice, shouting from Lincoln’s body. “I should have **known** they would pull something like **this**!”

“Good morning to you too,” Lincoln grumbled. He flew around to look Bill in the eye, since the demon hadn’t bothered to turn around. Given the yelling, he expected to see a scowl, with Bill’s glowing yellow eyes glaring out at him; instead, he found a huge smile splitting his own wrinkled face and Bill’s eyes twinkling triumphantly. “Lord Cipher?” asked Lincoln. “What’s going on?”

“I was trying to **stop** the portal,” Bill said, “but I **shouldn’t** have. I should have **encouraged** it!”

“I thought you didn’t want all ten Symbols in town.”

“I **didn’t**. But the **ancients** — those **clever devils** — built my **defeat** into my very **liberation**. Turns out I can’t escape **_unless_ **all ten Symbols are in town.”

Lincoln nodded pensively. It made sense. Those ancients knew what they were doing when they trapped Bill in this dimension. “How did you discover that?” he asked.

“The **township** formed,” Bill replied. “The time bubble **ended**. As soon as the **last Symbol** entered, a **barrier** went up around this whole **area** — the town, the forest, everything. **Just like the prophecies say.** ”

This declaration sent shivers up Lincoln’s spine — even though, technically, he did not currently _have_ a spine. “Then we should go back to the Order,” he said, “and figure out what we need to do next.”

Bill gave him a flat look. “Oh, don’t **pretend** that’s what you’re **most concerned** about,” he said. “ **You** want to go back and make sure your **precious Pacifica** is okay.”

“And everyone else,” Lincoln said defensively.

“ **Sure**. Well, we **do** need to go back. The **township** has formed, but I don’t know how to **start it up**. All I know is that it has to do with my **Symbols** , **somehow**. We’ll go back to the Order and see what we can find in the **library**.”

“We” meant Lincoln and the other Order members doing the work as Bill read over their shoulders (so to speak). But that was fine; Lincoln would rather flip through books for Bill than watch in spirit form as Bill did it himself. His spirit form made him feel restless, and he had yet to find a way to get rid of the feeling.

Bill gathered up Lincoln’s things in his duffel bag and started from the cave. Lincoln followed him through the forest for what seemed like hours, though it surely wasn’t that long. Regardless, it felt interminable: Bill walked in silence, and Lincoln’s sense of restlessness only grew.

At least he wasn’t the one trudging through the snow. That was a perk.

After a while, Bill stopped. “I need to check on something,” he said. “Stay as a ghost; I won’t be long.” He sat down at the base of a tree, leaned against it, and closed his eyes. The body went slack as Bill left it.

Lincoln watched the body uncomfortably. He felt a faint tug, an urge to return to his body, but he resisted. Bill would be back soon, and Lincoln didn’t want to enter his body just to get pulled out again. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before his eyes opened again, glowing the yellow glow of Bill’s possession. Bill stood up without a word and kept walking.

“What were you checking on?” asked Lincoln. Bill was limited to Lincoln’s senses while in his body; the demon couldn’t see through other people’s minds when possessing someone. If he was “checking” something, it meant he was returning to the mindscape to peer through other people’s eyes.

“The Pines,” Bill answered. He wouldn’t elaborate further.

It wasn’t until they could see the Gravity Rises library through the trees that Bill stopped again. “Stanford Pines is waiting for you at the Order entrance,” he commented.

The statement came so far out of nowhere that Lincoln took a moment to process it. “Waiting for me? I thought he didn’t know I exist.”

“He didn’t — at least, not you as the leader of the Order. But he just found out about you, and now he thinks you’re his long-lost brother.”

A longer pause.

“Am I?” Lincoln finally said.

“See for yourself.” Bill sat down at the base of another tree and left Lincoln’s body.

This time, Lincoln saw Bill fly into the spirit plane. Lincoln tried to ask him what was going on, but Bill simply pointed to Lincoln’s body.

So Lincoln flew into it.

The winter cold hit him as he returned to his senses. He got to his feet and brushed the snow from his waterproof pants. Then he just stood there, sorting out what Bill had told him.

Stanford Pines was waiting for him. Stanford Pines, the man responsible for the gravitational anomalies and the terror on the town, was waiting for Lincoln. Nobody outside of the Order was supposed to know about Lincoln; if they found out, then Gideon wiped their memories. Even people like Robbie Corduroy, who knew about the Order, still didn’t know about Lincoln. The Order leader kept mostly out of sight.

So how did Stanford Pines suddenly know about him? And why would he think that Lincoln was his brother?

The most obvious answer — that Lincoln _was_ his brother — was the most disconcerting. Lincoln didn’t _have_ family. Sure, Percy had felt like his father (despite being less than a decade older than he), and Grace and Pacifica felt somewhat like daughters. . . but they weren’t true family, were they? Whatever family Lincoln had — parents, siblings, even children — was lost with the rest of Lincoln’s memory. Percy had confirmed this fact multiple times over the years. How could local scientist Stanford Pines be Lincoln’s brother if Lincoln was told he had no family around here?

The idea of a having a brother — of _being_ a brother — filled Lincoln with a surprising longing. It also filled him with fear. What would be expected of him as a brother? If Stanford Pines — Public Enemy Number One in the Order right now — really was his brother, how would that work?

Finally, Lincoln unrooted himself from the spot where he stood, swallowed his dread, and started for the library. He made his way to the side of the building, which was at an angle to the tree line, and approached the wall without seeing anyone. But he could hear voices around the corner. With a flurry of fear, Lincoln listened to their conversation.

“No one knows where he is, Stanford, or when he’ll be back. I don’t think you should wait for him here.” It was Gregory Corduroy’s voice, strained with a forced calm.

“Oh, so I should just go home, and you’ll come tell me when he gets back? You, who have kept my brother hidden from me for thirty years?”

This second voice washed over Lincoln in a jarring wave. He knew in an instant that it must belong to Stanford. For all that Lincoln had heard _about_ Stanford, he had never actually seen or heard the man. Yet his voice. . . It sounded familiar. It was a feeling Lincoln had felt many times, though one that he had never quite gotten used to: like he had heard the voice before — like it was well-known to him — yet, before this moment, he couldn’t remember ever hearing it. No memories. Just familiarity. It was a sensation that Lincoln hated.

He pushed the feeling away and focused on the conversation. “I don’t know what we’ll do when he gets back,” Janice Corduroy was saying. “That’s up to Lord Cipher.”

Lincoln’s stomach churned. Lord Cipher. Bill had sent Lincoln here. He had brought him to the Order at this exact moment, so that Lincoln could meet a brother he didn’t remember. And there was no doubt that Stanford was his brother: That voice was too familiar.

“I won’t wait for Bill to decide when I get to see my brother,” the familiar voice said. “He’s already been deciding that for thirty years. Let me in, Corduroy, and I’ll wait down there.”

Thirty years. Bill had kept Lincoln from Stanford — had kept Stanford from Lincoln — for _thirty years_. Had Stanford been looking for Lincoln that whole time? Lincoln suddenly felt as if, all this time, he had been waiting to be found. The longing feeling increased, as did a deep pain. If Stanford had been here the whole time, then Bill had deceived him. Percy had deceived him. The Corduroys had deceived him. There wasn’t a single Order member who didn’t know who Stanford was, which meant that there wasn’t a single Order member who hadn’t been hiding this from him.

Everyone Lincoln cared about — Percy, Grace, Pacifica — had been lying to him all along.

The realization made it difficult to breathe.

As Lincoln processed all of this, the conversation continued. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” another, unfamiliar voice said.

“Stay out of this, Melody,” was Stanford’s tight response.

“No, I won’t. I know this has been hard, but you’re not thinking clearly — none of us are.”

“I’m thinking clearly enough! I need to get inside. _Now_.”

“This is a lot to process, Ford, I know. You need to—”

“I just want my brother back!” shouted Stanford.

The shout pulled Lincoln back into focus; with it, he started shaking all over. His composure, so often impeccable, was gone entirely. Nevertheless, he knew he had to get out there. He stepped forward so that he was in view. “I’m right here,” he said through a gummy throat.

For a split second, he saw the scene: the Corduroys, looking horrified; the unfamiliar woman, Melody, staring at him in shock; the back of a silver-haired head that must belong to Stanford. Then the head whipped around, and Lincoln got his first look at the face of his brother.

It froze him where he stood.

“ _Stanley!_ ” cried Stanford. One moment, he stood by Melody; the next, he sprinted across the ground and threw his arms around Lincoln. He hugged Lincoln with all the desperation of a long-lost brother. Relieved sobs forced their way through his lungs in staggered gasps. Lincoln, on the other hand, couldn’t breathe at all — and he couldn’t tell if it was because Stanford was hugging him so tightly or because he felt so panicked.

“Stanley.” Stanford choked over the name. “Stanley. You’re here. You’re finally here.”

Stanley. Was that. . . _his_ name?

Stanford shifted his grip, crying into Lincoln’s neck. “I finally found you,” he wept. “I thought I’d lost you, Stanley.”

With this, the panic overwhelmed Lincoln. He pushed Stanford away with wide eyes as he realized the terrible truth: Stanford _had_ lost him. Whoever this Stanley was, he was erased by the memory gun and replaced by Lincoln. Frantic thoughts — he lost me — Stanley is gone, and I’m not really his brother at all — I really _don’t_ have any family — raced through Lincoln’s head as he stared in horror at the man in front of him.

“Stanley?” Stanford’s tear-stained face jumped to an alarmed expression. “Stanley, what’s wrong?”

Lincoln couldn’t answer. He found his gaze locked on Stanford’s face, which looked almost exactly like Lincoln’s own reflection. Save a few differences — smaller ears, glasses, a narrower face, a different hairstyle — they could almost be the same man. Yet Lincoln, when he instinctively reached for the memories of Stanford that he _knew_ should be there, could find none. Thirty years, and Lincoln still hadn’t stopped searching for memories that he knew he wouldn’t find. With Bill’s help, especially after their first deal, the discomfort from this habit had faded. But now it was back. It was back, and it felt stronger than Lincoln had ever known.

“Stanley!” Hands grasped Lincoln’s shoulders. “Stanley, it’s me! It’s your brother!” A wild expression crept onto Stanford’s face, and Lincoln was sure it looked similar to his own.

“Lincoln.”

The voice — Gregory’s voice — finally gave Lincoln the push he needed to snap his gaze away from Stanford. His eyes landed on Greg, whose expression was a murky mixture of guilt and pain and fear. “Lincoln,” said Greg, his voice shaky, “this is Stanford.”

Stanford’s brow furrowed, and he turned on Greg. “He knows who I am,” he snapped. But this only intensified the guilty looks on Greg’s and Janice’s faces. Stanford whirled back around. “Of course you know who I am,” he said to Lincoln.

Miraculously, Lincoln found the air to speak. “Stanford,” he said slowly. It felt as if he’d never said the name before, even though he’d discussed this man often with Lord Cipher. “I. . . I do know who you are.” But I didn’t know you were my brother until now, he added silently. How will you react, when I tell you that I don’t remember you?

It was then that he decided he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell Stanford that he didn’t remember him. It wouldn’t be possible.

Stanford’s expression remained guarded. “Why are you acting like this?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve been _hiding_ from me for all these years.”

Lincoln didn’t know how to respond to that. _Had_ he been hiding? From the general public, yes. From Stanford specifically, no. Bill had been the one hiding Lincoln from Stanford. Bill and every other Order member.

Lincoln thought he should be getting angry at this point, but he couldn’t. Instead, the pain threatened to overwhelm him.

“I haven’t been hiding from you,” he said, and it was true enough. “I. . . I didn’t know you were here.”

Stanford stared at him, his mouth opening and closing in confusion. “If it’s true,” he said, “and you _do_ lead the Order, then you knew I was here. You’ve been fighting against me since I started gathering my Journals. If you know who I am, and where I was, then why didn’t you come find me, if you weren’t hiding from me?”

Lincoln stared right back, dumbfounded. Then, “Stanford,” said Gregory, stepping forward. “Stanford, there’s something else.”

Just like that, it dawned on him. Lincoln knew what he could do.

“Stanford, you said earlier that you would wait for me inside?” He got only a confused look in response, but he turned to Greg. A bit of his usual authoritative persona came back as he said, “Gregory, please escort Stanford downstairs. Take him to my room. I’ll meet you down there.” Greg looked confused, until Lincoln added, “Tell him everything you know about me.”

Greg’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly.

“Everything,” Lincoln confirmed. “I can’t explain it myself.” He fixed Greg with a hard stare. “It’ll help you make up for hiding this from me for so many years,” he added in a firm voice.

Fear sprang to Greg’s face. “Of course, Blind Lincoln,” he said, using the more formal name for the Order leader.

“Stanley, what is going on?” demanded Stanford. “How have they been hiding this from you?”

Lincoln turned sad eyes on him. “It’s a long story,” he said. “Gregory will explain.”

Stanford took his arm. “Why can’t _you_ explain?”

He closed his eyes. “Gregory will explain,” he repeated. “Please, Stanford. Go with him.”

Gregory moved to Stanford’s side and put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Wait.” Melody stepped forward. “Wait, Ford, you can’t go down there. Not again.”

Stanford stiffened. He glanced over his shoulder at Melody, then back to Lincoln. “If this is how I get to be with my brother, then I’ll do it.” The words were for Melody, but he looked directly into Lincoln’s eyes as he said them.

Lincoln gave him a slow nod. He _did_ want to talk to Stanford — but not right now. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he didn’t want to be there when Stanford discovered his amnesia.

“What about Pacifica?” said Melody.

Gregory glanced to her. “I’ll keep her away from him,” he said.

“I’ll go talk to Pacifica,” said Lincoln. “Then I’ll join you, Stanford.”

“Stanley.” Melody fixed him with a fierce look. “This place has never been safe for us. Ford is still injured from the last time he was here. One of our own was almost _killed_ down there. Can you promise me that he’ll be safe?”

The words burrowed under Lincoln’s skin with the sting of accusation. _Could_ Lincoln promise that Stanford would be safe? No, he realized. He couldn’t. Pacifica was down there — Lincoln knew that she had tortured Stanford before. There was no telling how Stanford might injure _himself_ , out of anger, once he found out about Lincoln’s amnesia. Lastly — the scariest possibility of all — there was always a chance that Bill might possess Lincoln and hurt Stanford himself.

“I can’t,” Lincoln whispered. “I can’t promise. But I’ll do my best.”

Melody made a strangled sound, but neither Lincoln nor Stanford looked to her. Instead, they gazed into each other’s eyes, each one trying to gauge the sincerity of the other. “I’ll take that risk,” Stanford finally said. “As long as you actually come and join me. I _can’t_ lose you again, Stanley.”

You never found me, whispered Lincoln’s brain. He shoved the thought away. “You won’t.”

Stanford looked between Lincoln and Greg. Then he nodded.

Greg glanced at Lincoln. “Should I use cuffs?” he asked softly. He was worried, Lincoln realized — worried that Stanford might hurt him once he told him about the amnesia.

Another strangled noise escaped from Melody’s throat. “Cuffs? How is that keeping him safe?”

Lincoln gave her a level gaze. “It would be to keep Gregory safe.” He went to get his duffel bag, which he had left behind the library, and returned to the group. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a spare pair of handcuffs with their key and handed them to Greg. “Are you willing?” he asked Stanford.

It took a moment for Stanford to answer. “Is this the only way to get down there?” he finally said.

Another glance at Greg showed that the handcuffs would make him feel a lot better about his assignment. “Yes,” Lincoln replied.

With a determined look at his brother, Ford held out his wrists.

Greg pulled his arms behind him and fastened the cuffs. “Cuff him to the lantern once you get to my room,” Lincoln instructed. “The one above my bed.” The same lantern that Lincoln had been cuffed to, all those years ago, when he’d first awoken with no memory.

“Stop,” said Melody, her voice taking on an edge of desperation. “Stanley, stop. Ford — please. Please don’t do this.”

Stanford turned to her. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly.

“Will it?” Her voice was weak.

Both of them looked to Lincoln for an answer to her question.

“We’ll explain everything,” Lincoln promised. He doubted anything would be okay afterwards, but at least Stanford wouldn’t be left in the dark.

“When will you let him go?”

Lincoln and Stanford shared another look. “I don’t know,” Lincoln admitted.

Melody stared at them both with pained eyes. Janice Corduroy came up beside her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder; Melody jumped, but she didn’t move away.

Greg took a deep breath. “Can you handle things at the barrier, Janice?” he asked. She nodded, and Greg took Ford by the arm. “Let’s go, then.”

Lincoln was curious about the barrier, but it wasn’t even _close_ to his first priority right now. He watched as Greg led Ford to the door and typed in the entry code.

Before they went inside, Ford looked desperately over his shoulder. “Stanley,” he said, “don’t leave me down there. I’ll go, but don’t — don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t,” Lincoln promised.

His piercing eyes searched Lincoln’s face. “I’ll see you soon, then.” He said it like a command. Then Greg pointed him through the door, and the two men disappeared down the steps.

Lincoln let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

But there wouldn’t be a reprieve for long. “What are you _doing_?” Melody tore from Janice’s side and marched right up to Lincoln. “How could you take your own _brother_ captive?”

“He came here himself, Melody,” Janice pointed out, but she received such a fierce glare in return that she put up her hands and took a step back.

Melody turned back to Lincoln. “He opened that portal for _you_ , Stanley. We all thought you were on the other side of it. He could have gotten himself killed looking for you. How could you just send him away like that?”

Lincoln took a deep breath, though it didn’t feel deep enough. “I have to go.” He glanced at the open door to the Order.

“Fine,” Melody said. “Go down there and talk to him, just like you said you would. And then _bring him back to me_.”

Her gaze was so intense that Lincoln could hardly think of defying her. “I will,” he said. Even as he said it, he hoped he was telling the truth. Who knew what Bill would do, now that Stanford was so thoroughly in his territory?

“You had better.” With that, Melody drew in a sharp breath, turned away, and walked back to the road. Lincoln and Janice were left alone behind the library. Janice didn’t move; she was waiting for Lincoln to dismiss her.

He looked at her for a long moment. “You kept this from me,” he finally said. “You _all_ kept this from me.”

Janice held herself up straight, but her voice was small as she replied, “Yes.”

A shaky breath escaped his lips. “You may go,” he said. He didn’t wait to see what she did before he picked up his duffel bag and left, entering the Order headquarters and closing the door.

The metal door shut solidly behind him, and Lincoln leaned against it. His legs trembled, threatening to give out; but if he gave in now, he wasn’t sure he would ever get up again. Painful thoughts swirled around him as he pushed himself off the door and headed down the stairs. Not yet. Don’t stop yet. You still have to talk to Stanford. You still have to face him, even after he knows about your amnesia.

Lincoln took off his coat and snow pants, leaving them in a bundle on the floor with his bag. Then he walked through the halls, pausing at the intersection that would take him to his own room or to Pacifica’s.

Another deep breath. Just keep breathing. Just keep moving. Don’t stop, or the pain will crush you. Keep going.

He turned and headed for Pacifica’s room.


	7. Chapter 7

Pacifica heard the distant footsteps and perked up. The anomalies were over, she was sure — and someone had come back to headquarters. Who? Could it be Gideon? Lincoln? Would they come and tell her that the terror was over, that she was safe?

The footsteps faded. Pacifica wondered if she should go after them. It wasn’t too long, though, before she could hear more footsteps. And these ones were headed straight for her.

Frantically, she grabbed the mirror on her dresser and checked to see if she was presentable. Not even close: She was still in her nightgown; her hair was wild; her face was splotchy with crying. At least there was no makeup on her face to get ruined by her tears. Pacifica tried in vain to pat down her hair and wipe her face, waiting anxiously to see who was coming to her door.

A soft knock. “Pacifica?”

Her heart leapt: It was Lincoln’s voice. Pacifica ran to the door and threw it open. “Lincoln! You’re back!”

Instead of looking happy to see her, as she hoped, Lincoln’s face held an expression of pained shock. “Lincoln?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m glad to see you safe,” he said slowly. It sounded like he meant it — but there was definitely something else on his mind. “May I come in?”

Pacifica moved out of the way, and Lincoln stepped into her room. His movements were limp and disjointed, as if he were a child’s toy being dragged on the floor behind its owner. He stumbled to Pacifica’s bed and dropped onto the mattress.

“What is it?” Pacifica said. He was scaring her.

With an effort, he met her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

She frowned, not sure what he meant.

“Stanford,” he said. It was like he wanted to sound urgent, but his voice couldn’t quite catch up to the pace of his emotions. “Stanford Pines. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pacifica’s eyes widened.

Oh.

Oh, no.

She took a steadying breath. “Bill told me not to,” she said simply. Why, she wondered, hadn’t Bill appeared and told her that Lincoln had found out their biggest secret? She hadn’t seen Bill for hours. He hadn’t been there to comfort her at all during last night’s gravitational anomalies.

A sudden spurt of air, like a laugh — or a sob — burst from Lincoln’s throat. “Of course he did,” he said. “It’s all a big conspiracy, isn’t it? Thirty years, and Bill successfully kept me from my brother for all this time.”

Pacifica didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t fair, she thought. Why did this have to come now? She’d been looking forward to Lincoln’s return; she never thought he’d find out about Stanford.

“You’re better off without him,” she finally said. “I think he might be the one behind Mabel’s evil deeds.”

The incredulous look that Lincoln gave her was so stark that she almost flinched. Then his gaze slipped silently away from hers. “You didn’t see him,” he whispered. “You didn’t see his face when he found me.”

No, she didn’t. But she could imagine the triumph in his eyes when he finally found Lincoln. She could see his malicious joy when he knew he could steal him away from Pacifica.

With labored movements, Lincoln pushed himself off the bed. “Stay here,” he instructed. “Or go to the kitchen. I don’t care. But stay away from my room.”

“Why?” Was he shutting her out because she didn’t tell him about Ford?

Lincoln weighed his answer before giving it. “Stanford’s there,” he finally said. “I don’t want you anywhere near him, understood?”

This was it. Ford was stealing him away. Lincoln had just gotten back, and now he was going to spend time with Stanford instead of her.

Lincoln saw her defiant expression. “Understood?” he repeated.

Pacifica pursed her lips, forcing herself not to tremble. “Fine,” she said.

Lincoln watched her, and he must have seen that she was trying not to cry. His expression softened, ever so slightly, and he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t say anything, and Pacifica couldn’t think of anything that she could say, either. Then, too soon, he moved away. He paused at the doorway, looking like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Pacifica watched him walk away. She wanted to call out to him.

But, like him, she had no words to say.

~~~~~

“The sky! Look at the sky!”

Janice looked up from where she swept glass and metal shards from the car crash. (Earlier, she’d helped push the car to the grandfather’s nearby house; she hadn’t seen either of the women from the crash, but she hoped they were resting and recovering.) The crowd was as large as ever, but it had dispersed around the barrier, so it was less concentrated. At the shouting, Janice peered through the people to see Yingtai Chiu, a fellow Order member, hurrying down the street.

This was a surprise, to say the least. Yingtai, usually a very quiet woman, was now shouting at the top of her lungs (“The sky!”) as she weaved her way through the crowd and pointed frantically above her head. With her other hand, she clutched her daughter’s arm, pulling Candy behind her.

“Yingtai!” called Janice. “Yingtai, what’s wrong?”

Yingtai skidded to a stop in front of Janice, and Candy almost ran into her. “Look at the sky,” Yingtai said breathlessly. “Look at the position of the sun.”

The rest of the crowd, having heard Yingtai’s cries, peered up at the sky in confusion. Janice joined them, wondering what on earth could have possessed Yingtai to make this much racket. “I don’t understand,” she said. The sky looked normal to her. It was mostly overcast, with wispy grey clouds blanketing the heavens. It looked like it might snow soon. Overhead, oriented partway towards the western horizon, a bright splotch of sun peered through the clouds.

“The sun,” Yingtai said, pointing her finger. “It’s in the west.”

It took Janice a moment to understand. The west? So what? The sun always went to the west in the afternoon.

Wait. . . _afternoon_?

“What time is it?” she said. “I thought it was still morning.”

“So did we,” said Yingtai. She tugged on her daughter’s hand. “Candy’s the one who noticed it. Tell her what you saw.”

Janice knew Candy to be a fierce, headstrong young girl; yet, right now, she looked tense and afraid. “I was looking out our front window this morning,” Candy said, “the one that faces east. When gravity went back to normal, the sun was right there.” She pointed to a spot about midway down the eastern hemisphere. “I — I didn’t realize until now, but. . . that was only an hour ago, maybe two. Right? Later, when I went to our back windows. . . the sun was shining in my eyes. It was somehow behind the house.”

“It jumped,” Yingtai finished. “The sun jumped through the sky.”

A group of about ten people had been listening to Candy’s description; when Yingtai added to it, they erupted in a chaos of sound. _Jumped?_ How could the sun jump through the sky? First the gravitational anomalies, then the invisible wall, and now this? _What_ was going _on_?

Janice tuned them out as best she could. “So time moved forward,” she realized aloud. She suddenly felt disoriented, as if she were experiencing jet lag. “We lost time. How much time did we lose?”

She could hear people debating the answer to this question before she even asked it. The locals of Gravity Rises were no strangers to nature; after all, they practically lived in it. Many people knew how to tell time by the position of the sun. After some arguing, the crowd generally agreed: The gravitational anomalies had ended at about ten A.M.; it had been about ninety minutes since then; and with the way the sun was now, it appeared to be close to three P.M. Time had jumped forward more than three hours.

The thought made Janice feel dizzy.

“Janice,” Yingtai said quietly, as a buzz of confused panic ran through the crowd, “do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Janice pursed her lips. “I need to get down to the library,” she said. “The prophecies mention something about a separation — a barrier — and I guess they mean this. I need to see if there are more details.”

“What about the sun?” asked Yingtai. She wasn’t one to read the prophecies — Janice wasn’t sure how well she could read English, though she spoke it almost impeccably. “Do the prophecies say anything about the sun jumping through the sky?”

“What prophecies?” asked Candy. Yingtai jumped as if someone had slapped her and shot a guilty look down at her daughter.

“They don’t talk about the sun moving,” Janice said slowly. “The only thing they mention about time. . .” Her eyes widened. “The time bubble,” she whispered.

“What?”

Janice put a hand to her head. She needed to go down to the Order library and find the references, so that she could remember for sure. But she couldn’t exactly leave now, not while people were still congregated around the barrier. From what Janice had heard before Yingtai’s arrival, some people wanted to ram the wall with heavy equipment, hoping to break through. Janice had to stay here and make sure something like that didn’t happen, for surely it would end in worse damage to people and property than the original car crash had. She may be a coroner by trade, but Janice certainly didn’t _enjoy_ it when people died.

“Janice? Are you all right?”

“Oh, sure, Mom,” said Candy. “She’s just fine. It’s not like gravity _and_ time are messed up!”

Yingtai shushed her daughter. Janice took a steadying breath. “A lot is happening right now,” she said. “I know where to find more information, but I can’t leave here. Yingtai, can you help me? I’m almost done cleaning up, and then we just have to make sure no one does anything rash. My son is out in the forest with Danny Valentino and his children; they’re trying to find someone who might know more about what’s going on.”

At this, Yingtai simply looked at Janice with a wide-eyed expression. Janice knew how she felt: All the secrets of the Order — the secrets that ensured the safety of humans and supernatural creatures alike — were suddenly crashing down with nothing to stop the tsunami.

“Please, Yingtai,” said Janice. “Help me keep the peace.”

“I don’t know about you,” Candy piped up, “but _I_ sure don’t feel very peaceful. Or did you miss the invisible wall?”

Yingtai shot her a look, then turned back to Janice. “All right,” she said. “What do I need to do?”

The two women finished cleaning up the mess from the car crash; once that was done, they set about convincing people that ramming Danny Valentino’s logger truck into the barrier was _not_ a good idea. Arguments broke out, and people shouted out their worry and their panic.

All the while, the impossible afternoon sun shone down on them.

~~~~~

Ford sat up straight when Lincoln opened the door. “Stanley.” He sounded relieved and pained and exhausted all at once. His handcuffs went taut as he surged forward.

Lincoln carefully closed the door behind him. “I’ll get those off,” he said quietly, crossing to Ford and holding up a key to the cuffs. Stanford sat rigidly as Lincoln took the cuff from his wrist, leaving the other cuff dangling from the lantern sconce. Then, as soon as he was free, Ford shot towards Lincoln. It took half a second of mild panic — should he have left the cuffs on? — before Lincoln realized that Ford was hugging him, not attacking him.

Ford didn’t say anything, but Lincoln could feel him shaking. This was a man that Lincoln had thought was dangerous — a man he had imagined as composed and removed. But the man in front of him was anything but that. Lincoln could feel the tears leaking through his shirt.

Neither of them had the best balance, given the force with which Ford had leapt from the bed; so Lincoln carefully sat back down, guiding Ford to sit with him. Ford kept crying into Lincoln’s shoulder, and Lincoln — awkwardly — put his arms around the man.

After some time of quiet crying, Ford shifted, moving back so he could look into Lincoln’s face. “Do you really not remember me?” he whispered. Even after hearing from Greg about the amnesia, Lincoln could still see some hope in his eyes.

Hope that Lincoln had to crush with the truth.

“No,” he said. His eyes focused on Ford’s shoulder, unable to move up to his face. “I. . . I had no idea that I had any family around here.”

“How could you fight against me like you did and not know who I was?”

Lincoln shrugged uncomfortably. “No one ever told me,” he said. “I never saw you, only talked about you.” He closed his eyes briefly. “No one told me who you really were.”

“Not for thirty years?”

Lincoln shook his head.

Ford sat back, a dull understanding in his eyes. “That’s why,” he said. He glanced to Lincoln. “Gideon Northwest is the one who told me about you. He said that he wipes the memories of anyone who can’t hide you from me. Or. . . or me from you, I suppose.”

Though this information shouldn’t be surprising, it still hit Lincoln with a pang to the heart to hear how deep this deception ran. “Gideon told you?” he asked.

“Yes.” A clear determination entered Ford’s eyes. “I’m keeping him safe, Lee,” he said. “I. . . I don’t know what it means, that you’re. . . that you lead the Order, but I will keep Gideon safe.”

Lincoln sighed. “I don’t want to hurt him,” he said, “though I imagine Gaston has other plans. It’s him you need to worry about.” And Bill, his mind added. But he didn’t want to bring him up. He didn’t want Stanford to discover the other terrible truth about him: that at any moment, Bill could take over Lincoln’s body and wreak havoc.

Please, he pled silently to the demon. Please don’t possess me. Not now. Not while Stanford is here. _Please_.

A few moments of silence passed before Ford moved on to another topic. “You don’t go by Stanley anymore, right?” he said quietly.

Lincoln glanced to him. “No,” he said. “I assume Stanley was my name?”

A faint, sad smile came to Ford’s face. “Yes,” he said. “Stanley and Stanford Pines. We’re twins, can you tell?”

He could’ve guessed, though he hadn’t thought about it in those terms. His eyes widened a little, and a question burst out of him — a question he hadn’t known he wanted the answer to. “When’s our birthday?” he said. “How old am I?” He knew that he was somewhere around sixty, but nothing more specific than that.

Ford didn’t answer right away, dropping his eyes to his lap. “You don’t even know your own birthday,” he whispered. Then, with a deep breath, he looked up again and mustered a smile. “We were born on June 15th, 1949. We’re sixty-three years old. You’re the older twin, by fifteen minutes, and you would never let me forget it.”

Lincoln smiled back. He could see himself doing that — or, at least, doing it in the past. His smile faded. Now, with all the isolation he’d experienced and with all the deals he’d made, he was a very different person than that snarky, angry man thirty years ago. This saddened him, and now it also scared him: Ford was expecting the brother he’d lost all those years ago, but Lincoln was not that man.

“So,” he said. “Stanley. And you called me Lee a moment ago. That. . . that’s the only thing I could remember. When I woke up.”

Stanford watched him intently. “You could remember your name?” he asked slowly.

“No, I could remember my nickname. Lee. It grew into Lincoln, thanks to Percy.” He shook his head. “He was the one who suggested that Lee was a nickname for something. But he never suggested the name Stanley.” That was deliberate, he was sure.

“Who’s Percy?”

“The leader of the Order. Before. . . before me. He was Pacifica’s grandfather, but he died before she was born.” Lincoln sighed. “He told me I had no family around here. That I was just a visitor when they found me unconscious.” A glance to Ford. “Was I. . . kidnapped?”

Frustration raged in Ford’s eyes as he lifted in his hands in a violent shrug. “I don’t know,” he said. “I have no idea what happened. _I_ remember that you fell into the portal in my basement. I thought you’ve been in another dimension this entire time. But you’ve been _here_ this whole time. I have no idea how that happened.” His face darkened. “But I do know who wiped your memory,” he growled.

Lincoln didn’t dare ask who. He wondered how Ford’s memory had been tampered with to make him think that his brother was trapped in another dimension. _Had_ Lincoln ever gone to another dimension? Or was Ford’s brain making something up entirely?

The brothers sat in silence again. Lincoln glanced to Ford, only to find him staring back, a pained expression on his face. He jumped guiltily when he saw Lincoln’s eyes on him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking away.

“It’s all right,” said Lincoln, though it wasn’t, really. “You’ve been through a lot. You. . . you’ve discovered things that you never imagined. We both have.”

Ford looked up, but he didn’t say anything. Lincoln could see the emotion in his eyes, though he didn’t let it escape this time in the form of tears.

It made Lincoln uncomfortable to hold Ford’s gaze. His brain still couldn’t get used to the face, so similar to his own, that looked back at him. Still, the men — the brothers — watched each other, neither one knowing what to say.

Then Lincoln felt a tug on his soul.

He jumped to his feet, startling Ford. “No,” he said. “No, please. Not yet.”

“Lee?” Ford asked in alarm. “Lee, what’s wrong?”

Lincoln stared sightlessly at the far wall. “Don’t. Please. I — I’ll explain to him, but leave me be.” He couldn’t see the demon to which he pled, but he pled all the same.

“Explain what? Lee?”

Bill yanked Lincoln from his body.

The world flipped a few times before Lincoln got his bearings. His sight cleared, and he saw Ford holding him — or, his body. The man had leapt from the bed to catch Lincoln when he fell (as bodies often do when they have no spirit to hold them up). Lincoln watched his own eyes open, with a yellow glow in place of the irises. Another spirit was inside his body now: the spirit of a demon.

“Lee, are you okay?” Ford helped Bill to his feet, searching his eyes. He couldn’t see the yellow glow that Lincoln could. To Ford, his brother appeared to be the same.

Bill stepped away and brushed off Lincoln’s robes. “I’m not Lee,” he said.

Ford frowned in confusion. “What?”

Bill smiled at him. “Oh, **Sixer** ,” he said. “It’s been so long. I’ve **missed** you.”

Now Ford looked positively baffled. “Lee, what is going on?”

“I just said. I’m not Lee. I’m **Bill**.”

Ford stared at him. Lincoln could imagine what he saw: the blue-grey eyes of his brother, bleeding away to reveal the yellow eyes of Bill Cipher. “I. . . I don’t understand,” said Ford, taking a step back.

Bill spoke slowly and clearly. “I am **Bill Cipher** , and I am **possessing** your brother’s body. It’s been **thirty years** since I’ve talked with you.” He grinned again. “ **Did you miss me?** ”

Now the inevitable horror entered Ford’s eyes. “Where’s Lee?” he immediately asked.

Bill waved an unconcerned hand in the direction of Lee’s ghost. “ **Over there**. You can’t see him, since he’s currently a **ghost** and all. Say **hi** , Lincoln.”

Lincoln shot Bill a flat look.

He shrugged. “Be that way.”

“How?” demanded Ford. “How could you possess him like that? I thought you needed to make a deal.”

The smile returned. “We **did**. **Years** ago. I gave **Lincoln** something **he wanted** , and he gave **me** permission to possess him.” Bill looked positively gleeful. “ **Whenever I want**.”

Ford’s confused expression set into stone, and he whipped out a gun that Lincoln hadn’t noticed before. “Not while I’m here,” he said, and he pointed the gun squarely at Bill.

“That’s **not a good idea** ,” Bill said. “Knocking me unconscious **won’t** kick me out of your brother’s body.”

“That’s how it works, isn’t it?” Ford’s voice shook, but his hands were steady on the gun. “If the body falls asleep or unconscious, you have to leave.”

“Normally, **yes**. But **not now**. Since I can take over this body **whenever** I want, I can **stay inside** when it’s asleep. If you **shoot** me, you’ll just have an **unconscious brother** on your hands; and, when the body wakes up, I’ll **still be inside**. **Besides** ,” he added, “we’re standing **very close** to each other. Shooting me at **this** close of a range would only hurt Lincoln.”

 _Now_ Ford’s hands shook. He let out a pained breath and put the gun away. “Is there any way to get you out, then?”

“Short of **killing him** , no,” Bill replied. “ **I’m** in control. **I** get to decide who’s inhabiting this body at any given time. It’s really a **genius** set-up, wouldn’t you say?”

Lincoln was having a hard time focusing on the conversation at hand. Seeing the gun had completely scattered his thoughts, for at first he hadn’t realized that it was only a stun gun. Now, as he tried to pick up the pieces of his panicked thoughts, he wished he was inside his own body. Feeling strong emotions like these was taxing when you didn’t have a body to feel them with.

“ **So** , I’m **here now**. Any **questions** for me?” Bill looked at Lincoln, not Ford, when he said this.

It was still Ford who answered. “Do you mean to tell me, _Cipher_ , that you’ve been deliberately hiding my brother from me for all this time?”

Bill rolled his eyes (which was a strange phenomenon to watch, with his slitted pupils). “That’s not a **real** question, **Sixer**. You already **know the answer**. But, since you asked: **yes**.”

“What happened?” It was the first thing Lincoln had said since getting thrown from his body. “How did I go from being Stanford’s brother to waking up down here with no memory?”

“Ah, now **that’s** a real question.” Bill glanced to Stanford, who looked confused, and explained, “ **Blind Eye** — that is, Lincoln — just asked me how he got down here. Care to share **your** hypothesis, Stanford?”

Ford tensed, then said, “Point to Lee again.” When Bill did, he turned in that direction and tried to meet Lincoln’s eyes. Lincoln appreciated the gesture, even if he undershot by a couple inches. “My guess, Lee, is that Fiddleford — my assistant — wiped your memory with his memory gun, abducted you, and brought you down here.” Ford looked to Bill. “Was Fidds an Order member?”

“Oh, **yes** , he was a **fun pawn** ,” Bill said. “I know I **tried to stop you** , Sixer, from bringing him back, but it was actually a **good thing**. I suppose I must **thank** you.”

“Why?” asked Ford, a hostile glint in his eye.

Bill laughed shortly. “I’m not going to tell **you** why.”

“That’s who was on the other side of the portal?” Lincoln was putting pieces together, but he didn’t like the picture he was getting. “The man who wiped my memory?”

“ **Yes** ,” said Bill. “On **my orders** , of course.”

Lincoln stared at him. Bill stared right back, waiting patiently as Lincoln processed what he just said.

“You?” It made a horrible sort of sense, but Lincoln didn’t want to believe it. “ _You’re_ behind my amnesia?”

“Oh, **yes** ,” Bill said with a smile. “Fiddleford pulled the **trigger** , of course, but **I** gave the order. It was a **backup plan** , you see. I **sent Fiddleford** through the portal, hoping **I** could go through as well. If **that** didn’t work, then I would work on bringing **you** , the **poor, helpless amnesiac** , over to my side.” He spread his hands, his smile widening. “And it **worked** , didn’t it? Even if you become my **enemy** after today, it **doesn’t matter**. I **still** have the power to **possess you**.” Now he turned to Ford. “Tell me, **Sixer** : If I have one of my Symbols **entirely under my control** , can the rest of you **ever** fulfill the prophecy? Or am I **unstoppable**?”

Ford clenched and unclenched his hands but said nothing.

Lincoln felt himself shutting down. With no body to hold them in, his thoughts swirled around him in a suffocating whirlwind. All these years, Bill had been a confidant — a protector — and. . . and it had all been a scam? Even as Lincoln recognized, over the years, who Bill really was, he never considered him to be the mastermind behind his memory loss. He had known that the memory gun was responsible, but not who had used it or why. Now he faced the terrible truth: that his amnesia was caused by the same organization that had taken him in afterward.

“ **Now** ,” said Bill, “I think that’s **enough** Q and A time. Let’s get back to the **Museum** , Stanford.”

“What?”

“Well, see, you’re holding something of mine there. A certain **Northwest**.”

Ford stiffened. “You can’t have him.”

“Yes, how **clever** of you, hiding him in the **basement** ,” Bill said. “ **The thing is** , I made a **promise** to that boy **years** ago: that if he **ever** gave up my little **secret** about you two brothers, then he would be **severely punished**. And I can’t break my promises.”

Ford folded his arms. “Well, you’re going to have to break that one, because you’re not getting to him.”

Lincoln was barely paying attention (since he was trying to reign in his own thoughts), but he dimly appreciated Ford’s tenacity in protecting Gideon. He certainly needed protecting; and if Stanford Pines could open an interdimensional portal against Bill’s wishes, then he could guard Gideon from the demon’s wrath.

“I was being **literal** , **Sixer**. I **cannot break my promises**. It’s part of my inability to lie. Those **ancients** thought that if I **had** to follow through on my threats, then I would **make them** less often.” Bill shrugged. “Whether or not they were **right** , I’m not sure. I **do** know, however, that this means I **have** to make Gideon’s punishment my **first priority**.” He put out an arm, like he was offering for Ford to take it. “So, let’s go.”

“We’re leaving?” Lincoln blurted. He had thought. . . well, he’d thought that Bill would do something terrible to Ford, since he had him captive in the Order headquarters and all.

“Yes, **Blind Eye** , we’re leaving. We’re going to the Mystery Museum, where **Fordsie** lives. Won’t that be fun?” He shot Lincoln a patronizing smile.

“I can’t let you,” Ford insisted. “I won’t let you into my house, Cipher.”

The patronizing smile turned to Ford, then became vindictive. “But **surely** you want to let **Stanley** into your house. You have to realize, **Sixer** , that he and I are a **package deal**.”

Lincoln watched Ford’s expression as it cycled through anger and pain and hatred. “Don’t call him by that name,” Ford finally said, his face red with rage. “You have no right to use the name that you _stole_ from him.”

Bill shrugged. “I usually use **Blind Eye** , anyway.” He seemed unconcerned by Ford’s anger. “Now, are you going to come with me, or should I leave you down here with **Pacifica**? She’s been **working herself** into quite a **temper** over you.”

With the mention of Pacifica, another flash of pain bolted through Lincoln’s thoughts. He struggled with this pain as Ford glared at Bill. “Fine,” Ford finally said, “but I won’t hesitate to stun you.” He reached into a pocket and held up a white patch in a clear wrapping.

Bill rolled his eyes. “You must think you’re **so** threatening.” He opened the door and gestured to Ford. “After **you**.”

Ford regarded him warily. “You first.”

Bill shrugged and stepped through the door; only then did Ford follow, with Lincoln floating next to him. After a minute of tense silence, “I’ve **missed** you, **Sixer** ,” Bill said over his shoulder. “Your thoughts were **so entertaining** to peek in on. Why did you **ever** block me out?”

Ford gave him an incredulous look, even though they weren’t facing each other. “Does your inability to lie include asking questions you already know the answer to?” he asked in lieu of answering.

Another shrug. “ **No** , or I wouldn’t have been able to **ask** that.”

“Well, then, you know why. To keep you from spying.”

They came across the coat, snow pants, and duffel bag that Lincoln had left on the floor, and Bill bent down to pick up the coat. “Sometimes, **Sixer** ,” he said with a shake of his head, “it’s fun to **ask** even when I know the answer.”

Lincoln was silent as Bill and Ford bickered. He had so much to think about that he could hardly think at all. He wanted to be back in his body. He wanted to get into his warm bed and never leave.

Instead, he floated beside his newly discovered brother as he tried and failed to pick up the pieces of his shattered world.


	8. Chapter 8

Lincoln glanced back at the crowd of people gathered at the barrier. He, Ford, and Bill were headed away from them, but the general hubbub of noise was still audible as they approached the Mystery Museum. Lincoln thought he caught glimpses of the Corduroys and Yingtai Chiu trying to keep the peace in the crowd. Seeing them filled him with a mixture of pride in those he mentored and pain from their secrets.

Approaching the Museum felt surreal, not least because Lee was currently outside of his body. He followed Ford and Bill to the building, which was sheltered back in the trees but not too far from the road. The trees muffled the distant sounds of the crowd. Lincoln looked at the log cabin that was Ford’s home — Lincoln’s home, too, before his memory loss. The cabin looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t remember anything about it.

It was in that moment that he realized, with a dim rush of panic, that he couldn’t let Bill enter the Museum in his body. If this was the first time he’d been here in thirty years, then _he_ had to be in his body for this moment. Plus, weren’t there children staying here with Ford? Dipper and his twin sister Mabel, who had been possessed by Bill herself? Lee couldn’t meet them as a ghost. He had to have his body.

“Lord Cipher,” he said, though it suddenly pained him to refer to Bill as his lord. “Please, wait for a moment.”

Bill stopped, putting a hand on Ford’s arm to stop him as well. Ford flinched at his touch but stopped walking. “ **Yes?** ” asked Bill.

“I. . . May I have my body back?” The words sounded strange, and he wondered if anyone else had asked the demon so politely to stop possessing them. “Please, I. . . I want to see the Museum for myself.”

“You can **see** ,” Bill pointed out, though it sounded like he knew what Lincoln was talking about.

“What’s he saying?” asked Ford.

Bill glanced to him. “He wants his **body** back,” he said, “to **enter** your home.”

Ford started to answer, but Bill held up a hand as Lincoln spoke. “And I need it to meet his. . . _our_. . . relatives,” Lee added. “I don’t want them to know me as. . . well, as _you_ , before they know me as me.” 

“Yes,” said Ford, though he hadn’t heard Lincoln’s addendum. “Yes, give him his body back. You know how upset Mabel and Dipper are. They need to meet their uncle.” His lip curled slightly. “They have no need to see _you_ again,” he added, glaring at Bill.

Bill raised his eyebrows. “So **inhospitable** ,” he said.

Ford folded his arms. “I’ll only let Lee in,” he said. “Not you.”

“And if I stay in this body **forever**?”

The very thought was horrible to consider, and Lincoln forcefully told himself that Bill was just asking a hypothetical question. “Please,” he said. “Please, Lord Cipher. I. . . I need this.”

Bill glanced to him, unamused. “I’m sure you **think** that you need it.”

“Give the man his body back,” Ford demanded in frustration.

Bill sighed. “ **Fine**. But I’m **taking it back** to talk to **Gideon**.”

“You’ll be talking to him through a vending machine,” Ford replied. (This earned a confused look from Lincoln, but he figured he’d understand soon enough.)

Bill rolled his eyes like a petulant child. “Hold me up,” he instructed Ford. “I don’t think Lee here wants to wake up in the **snow**.” He leaned back in Ford’s arms. “Have **fun** explaining to the **kids** about your **amnesia** ,” he said to Lincoln.

“Tell Pacifica where I am,” Lee replied. He tried to ignore the barb.

Bill’s eyes closed, and the body fell still as a yellow triangle rose from its chest. Seeing Bill in his triangle form brought Lee more pain and even a faint anger, though it was mostly smothered by the pain. He forced himself to say, “Thank you,” to Bill before flying back into his body.

His senses returned to him in a rush. He could feel Ford’s arms bearing his weight; he could hear with his ears (which seemed richer in tone than hearing things as a spirit) as Ford called his name. He pushed himself up, standing on his own weight, and smiled at Ford. “So,” he said. “This is your house?”

Ford hugged him tightly.

The brothers walked the rest of the way to the house. Ford pointed at the totem pole and the barrels around it (“Those barrels held the fuel for the portal. We recruited the minotaurs to help rescue you.”) and the car in the driveway (“That’s your car, Lee. You lived in her for a couple years, actually, before you moved in with me.”) as they went. The familiarity was almost overwhelming, though it never broke the surface into true memory.

When they made it to the porch, Lee paused. “Who are those kids expecting?” he asked Ford softly.

“You,” he answered immediately. “They’re waiting for you.”

“Even without my memory?”

Ford paused. “I think,” he said slowly, “that knowing you were kidnapped and mind-wiped is a lot easier to accept than the idea that you were hiding from me this whole time.” From the look on his face, Lincoln could tell that Ford was speaking for himself as much as the children. “It even helps explain why you’re the leader of the organization of our greatest enemy.”

Lee felt the urge to apologize, but he resisted. He _was_ the leader of the Order: That had been his primary identity since Percy’s death. Brother or no brother, it was still the truth. Even as he prepared to enter Ford’s home and meet Mabel and Dipper, some part of his mind wondered what he would do to help the members of the Order as they grappled with the effects of the portal.

“They want to meet you,” Ford said, referring to the children. “These last few hours have been torture for them.”

Lincoln glanced at him. He didn’t doubt that, but he wondered if his appearance — and the truth about him, his memory loss, his Order involvement, and his relationship to Bill — would relieve the torture or add to it.

Either way, he still wanted to meet these kids. “Okay,” he said with a nod.

Ford opened the door.

Lee stepped into the house, and it seemed to him to be more than just a physical threshold. This was a new phase in his life — and it would be different from anything Lee remembered. “Mabel,” Ford called as Lee took off his coat and hung it on the coatrack. “Dipper. Kids. I found him.” He called up the stairs, and through a door in the living room. “Oh, right,” he said. “I think they’re back in my room.”

He didn’t need to go looking for them, though: The pounding sound of footsteps reached Lincoln’s ears, and he turned to see the twins running down the hallway. “Grunkle Stan!” called the boy — Dipper — as he rushed to his uncle. Lee stumbled back as Dipper ran into him with the full force of a delighted child.

Another pair of arms wrapped around his waist: Mabel. She silently leaned her head against his shoulder. Dipper squeezed Lee in a brief hug and stepped back, his mouth moving before Lee could even process the hug. “Hi, Grunkle Stan! I’m Dipper, and the girl hugging you is Mabel! I’m _so_ excited to finally meet you. Can we call you Grunkle Stan? I thought of ‘Grunkle Lee,’ but that kinda sounds weird, so I thought Stan would be better. What do you think?”

Lee blinked, casting a glance at Ford. Ford chuckled. “He does that.”

“Um, hi, kids,” said Lee. He grimaced inwardly that the first thing he said to them was “um,” but it was too late now. “It’s good to meet you, too.”

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan!”

He shook his head. “Call me Lee, please.” Stanley may be his real name; but he’d never used it (that he could remember), and he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with other people using it to refer to him.

Dipper blinked but took the request in stride. “Okay, Grunkle Lee it is! I was just kidding earlier when I said it sounded weird.”

Lee could help it: He smiled.

He glanced to Mabel as she carefully moved away from him. “Hi, Mabel,” he said softly.

“Hi,” she said. Her eyes flicked up to his face but didn’t stay.

Ford seemed to know what was wrong before Lee did. “It’s complicated, Mabel,” he said, “but he’s not evil.”

Now Mabel really looked at him; her eyes searched Lincoln’s face. “How can you lead the Order?”

Lincoln hesitated. “Do you want me to tell them?” Ford asked softly. Lee looked back at him, then shook his head. No. He would tell them.

If he could.

“A lot has happened in thirty years,” he said. “Yes, I lead the Order. I haven’t left headquarters often. But I wasn’t deliberately hiding from Ford.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look the twins in the eyes. “Kids, I. . . I have amnesia.”

The truth that he hadn’t wanted to admit to Ford earlier fell now from his lips, and it was painful to hear it spoken aloud. The twins stared up at him, uncomprehending. “Wait, seriously?” said Dipper.

Lincoln nodded. “Thirty years ago, I woke up with no memory. I was told that I had no family around here, either.” His eyes found Ford’s again. “Even when the Order moved against Stanford, I had no idea that he was my brother.”

He fell silent as the twins processed this. Finally, “No one told you?” Mabel whispered.

“No one.” Everyone he knew had lied to him.

Mabel stared at him; pain and sorrow and a glimmer of comprehension all appeared in her gaze. She stepped forward and silently wrapped her arms around Lincoln for a second time.

Tears immediately sprang to Lincoln’s eyes: the first since meeting Stanford. The weight of all he had learned suddenly felt too great to bear. He sank to his knees, taking Mabel with him, and let out a shuddering breath. She clung to him, and he lowered his head until his tears flowed into her hair.

Soon enough, he felt another pair of arms around them both: Dipper had joined the hug. It wasn’t long before Ford knelt on the other side and did the same. The four Pines sat in a tangle of arms and tears, still as statues but for their staggered breaths. A lot of emotions ran rampant, many of them negative — but there were positive ones, too. Reconciliation. Relief.

And, above all, a profound sense of love.

~~~~~

For the third time that day, Ford cried.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this emotional. A tiny part of him didn’t like it, but most of him eagerly welcomed the tears. He had found his brother: That alone was worth the crying.

It wasn’t as simple as that, he knew. His brother wasn’t anything like Ford had expected, not after thirty years of separation. Not only the amnesia and the deal with Bill — there was more to it. Lee’s mannerisms seemed totally different: deliberate, calculated, even a bit hesitant. Though Ford was relieved to have his brother back, he also couldn’t banish the fear that he no longer knew this man at all.

He tried not to focus on that fear. It was too paralyzing.

Instead, he sat on the ground with his brother and his niece and his nephew, strengthened by their closeness. He knew that it wouldn’t last — that Bill would eventually come back — but he tried to appreciate the moment. They all needed this.

Then Lee jerked back.

The hug dissolved, and the young twins looked in confusion to their new grunkle. Lee got to his feet, and Ford’s stomach dropped as he realized what was happening. “The couch,” he said, gesturing to the nearby piece of furniture. He didn’t want Lee to fall and hurt himself. He didn’t want Bill to take over at all, but he at least didn’t want him to injure Lee in the process.

“Grunkle Lee? What’s going on?”

“Stay back, kids,” said Ford, putting out a hand as Dipper stepped forward. “There’s something else about your uncle that we _might have explained_ if someone had _given us more time_.” He glared into the distance as anger at Bill and at the entire situation boiled in his chest.

Lee sat on the couch; he appeared to be bracing himself for what came next. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking directly at Mabel. Then his body went slack.

Ford took a careful step forward as Lee’s eyes opened again — except now they were Bill’s eyes. Last time, it had taken a moment for Ford to notice the possession, but now he could instantly see the glowing yellow eyes. The kids probably couldn’t.

“Ah, it’s nice to be **back** ,” Bill said, grinning at Ford. “I usually don’t do this **often** , **Fordsie** , but I probably will in **coming days**.”

“Get out,” Ford replied, trembling in anger. “Leave him alone.”

Bill shook his head. “I **told** you that I would do this — **both** of you.” He looked across the living room, and Ford guessed that Lee was hovering at the end of Bill’s gaze. He wished he could see his brother.

“What just happened?” The question came from Mabel, who sounded like she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. “What’s going on?”

Bill grinned again, but Ford shot him a sharp look. “I’ll explain,” he said firmly.

“Okay, you do that.” Bill got to his feet. “I’m going to go talk to Gideon.” Ford’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Bill added, “Don’t worry, I can’t get through the vending machine. This is going to take some **negotiation**.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Mabel blurted.

Bill just smiled at her.

“Why is he acting so weird?” Dipper asked as Bill went into the gift shop.

Ford’s breath left him in a frustrated burst. “That’s the other thing,” he said. “Besides the amnesia. Did you see how he seemed to fall asleep on the couch?”

The twins nodded warily.

“That. . . that was him getting pulled out of his body.” The twins looked confused, and Ford really didn’t want to say this next part — but someone had to, and he didn’t want it to be Bill. “He’s been possessed by Bill Cipher.”

Mabel made a high-pitched noise of surprise, and Dipper grabbed his sister’s arm protectively.

“They made some kind of deal,” Ford said. “Bill says he can. . . that he can take over whenever he wants.” His eyes closed as anger and sadness flowed through him.

“That was Bill?” asked Dipper. “Why didn’t he have yellow eyes?”

“Because we didn’t know,” Mabel whispered. “Right, Grunkle Ford? If someone doesn’t know about the possession, then. . . then they don’t notice anything different.”

Ford nodded. “If you saw him now, I think you’d see the eyes.”

This seemed too much for Mabel, and she buried her face in Dipper’s shirt with a sharp breath. Dipper held his sister, looking between his uncle and the Employees Only door. “Bill Cipher is in our house?” he asked.

“In a way, he always has been,” Ford said, “as he looked through your minds. But now he’s here inside someone’s body, yes.”

Mabel clung tighter to Dipper.

“I need to follow him,” Ford said. “I need to make sure he doesn’t do anything to Gideon.”

“What does he want with him?” asked Mabel, turning her head just enough for her words to be audible.

“He says he has to punish him for giving up the secret about Lee. I won’t let it happen,” Ford said firmly as Mabel let out another squeak of fear. “You kids stay here.” With that, he followed Bill into the gift shop.

“Just **come out** , Gideon,” Bill called through the vending machine. He nodded to Ford as Ford walked over to him.

“Stay in there, Gideon.” Ford hoped the boy could hear him through the metal vending machine. “That’s not Lee; it’s Bill.”

“I know,” came the call back. “He already told me.”

Ford glanced to Bill in mild surprise. The demon shrugged.

“ **You knew** the consequences when you **came** here,” Bill said. “You have to **face** reality.”

“The reality is that I’m behind a door that _you_ can’t get through,” Gideon yelled back. “Seems pretty safe to me.”

Bill pursed his lips. “What **obstinance** ,” he muttered, then raised his voice. “Listen, **Gideon** —”

Someone knocked on the door.

The sound came from the living room. That couldn’t be good. Ford hurried through the Employees Only door as the front door — which Ford hadn’t locked behind him in the emotion of the moment — opened. Gaston Northwest walked into the entryway, and Ford could see a group of men and women behind him.

Mabel and Dipper, who had moved away from the door when the knock sounded, jumped back even further. “Ah, **Gaston**!” called Bill as he came into the living room. He said the man’s name very loudly, as if he were hoping that Gideon would hear it. “ **Welcome**. I was just talking to your **son**.”

“Blind Lincoln,” said Gaston, surprise written on his face. “What. . . what are you doing here?”

“Actually, I’m **Bill** ,” he replied cheerfully. “I’ve commandeered Lincoln’s body for the moment. We have a very **interesting** situation on our hands, and you showed up **just in time**.”

“You’re not welcome here,” Ford said. “Get out of my house.”

Gaston looked at him with a disinterested expression. “I’m afraid you have something of mine.”

That was almost the same thing that Bill said back at the Order. “He is not yours,” Ford said tightly. “Neither is he yours,” he added to Bill. “He’s his own person, and he’s under my protection.”

The last of Gaston’s entourage, which Ford presumed were his servants, entered the house and closed the door. There were about a dozen people, not counting Gaston, the Pines, and Bill; and it was getting rather crowded. “Come into the gift shop,” Bill said. “I’ll show you where Gideon is.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Ford warned. “I have weapons.”

Three servants moved into defensive position around Gaston. “I have numbers,” the man replied. “Out of the way, Stanford.”

“Come on, Ford,” said Bill. “We can only **talk** to Gideon for **now**. Once we get what we **want** , we’ll leave you alone.”

Ford placed himself deliberately between Bill and Gaston. “But you won’t leave Gideon alone,” he said.

“ **No** ,” Bill agreed. Then he sighed. “Look, **Sixer** , these servants **know how to get people out of the way**. They’re not **gentle** about it, either. So if you or your precious **kiddos** don’t want to get hurt, I’d **move**.”

Ford’s hand went to his stun gun, gripping it as he considered whether or not to pull it out. Bill stepped up behind him. “Remember the Order library,” the demon said in his ear. “Remember what happened when you tried to **fight** your way through a group like this. And **they** weren’t **trained** the way these guys are.”

Mabel and Dipper fled to Ford’s side as Gaston and his entourage moved forward. “Excuse us,” Gaston said. His polite tone thinly veiled the threat of violence that ran beneath.

Ford put a hand on Mabel’s shoulder only to find her trembling, and he knew that he couldn’t put these kids at risk. With a glare at Gaston, he moved aside.

Bill, Gaston, and the servants entered the gift shop, followed by Ford and the twins. Ford fingered Lee’s brass knuckles in his pocket, wanting very badly to use them on the Northwest servants; but Bill said they could easily defend themselves. Plus, if Bill got involved in the fight and got hurt, then _Lee_ would be the one who _actually_ got hurt.

Ford wondered where Lee’s ghost was right now, and he wished once again that he could see his brother.

While Ford was thinking about starting a fight, Bill explained the situation with the vending machine to Gaston. “Gideon,” called Gaston. “Come out this instant.”

“Your **father** is here, Gideon,” added Bill. “Along with some **servants**. They’re **waiting** for you to **come out**.”

A terrible silence followed. Mabel clung to Ford’s arm.

“Leave me alone,” Gideon finally said.

Gaston let out a humorless laugh. “You _dare_ speak to me that way? Not to mention Lord Cipher!”

“ _Lord Cipher_ can’t get to me,” Gideon replied. “And neither can you, Father.” Gaston bristled, and Ford figured that Gideon was being unnaturally forward with him.

“So you’ll just **starve** in there?” asked Bill. “We can **stay here** , Gideon. I could leave a **post** , just **waiting** for you to come out.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Ford snapped. He received unimpressed looks from the Northwest servants in response.

“Listen, **Gideon** ,” said Bill after another moment of silence, “I’m willing to **negotiate**. How about this: If you come out, no one will touch you in this room.”

A pause. “No one will touch me while I’m in that room, or no one who is currently in that room will touch me?”

Smart kid, thought Ford. He knew how to negotiate with Bill and his slippery words.

“No one will touch you while you’re in the gift shop,” Bill clarified with a roll of his eyes.

Gideon gave a dry laugh. “And someone will wait just outside the vending machine to grab me as soon as it opens.”

Bill shrugged, even though Gideon couldn’t see it. “Okay, how about **this** : I have one of the servants **hold** **Mabel captive** until you come out.”

Mabel gave a terrified noise and clung to Ford. He and Dipper moved to defend her. Two of the closest servants stepped forward.

The vending machine swung open, and Gideon stepped into the gift shop. “Leave her alone.”

Gaston’s eyes flared with an angry triumph. “Get him,” he ordered.

“ **Wait** ,” Bill said. “We told him we wouldn’t **touch** him, remember?”

“You did,” Gaston replied. “I promised no such thing.”

“Actually, I said **no one** ,” Bill said, “and that **includes** you.”

“Lord Cipher,” Gaston said with mounting impatience, “I am going to discipline my son.”

“ **No** , you’re **not** ,” Bill replied. “ **I am**.” He waved a hand. “Keep **Gaston** out of the way,” he said.

Gaston raised his eyebrows. “These are my servants, if you recall.” He sounded amused.

The servants closest to him grabbed his arms at the elbows.

“ **Actually** ,” said Bill in a conversational tone, “they’re **mine**.”

“What?” Gaston struggled against his own servants, who didn’t let him go. “Of course not! I pay you! You obey me!”

“We do,” said a woman who held him in place, “until Lord Cipher gives us a superseding order.”

Gideon moved closer to the Pines as Gaston argued with Bill and the servants. The boy stared at the scene with wide eyes, and Ford thought he could see a hint of relief in them. Gaston fought against his own servants, but they kept him away from Gideon.

“That feels **good** ,” Bill commented. “I ought to **inform** you, **Gaston** , that your **servants** will be doing a **lot** for me in the coming days. We’re **close** to success, and I need **their help** to pull off my **escape**.”

Gaston glared at Bill silently; he no longer fought against his servants.

“ **Now** ,” Bill said, turning to Gideon. “I’m **glad** that we don’t have to **yell** at each other through that vending machine, aren’t you?”

Gideon regarded him with a wary expression.

“Let’s **talk** , **Lone Wolf** ,” said Bill. “Let’s talk about what **happens** when you **defy** me.”

~~~~~

Gideon felt calmer than he expected. But that still wasn’t very calm.

He stood close to the Pines and relatively far from Bill, the servants, and Gaston. Gideon had never seen Blind Lincoln possessed by Bill — he’d never seen anyone possessed by Bill — and the harsh yellow eyes unnerved him more than he wanted to admit.

“I don’t think I’ve **fully explained** to you, Gaston, what your son **did** ,” Bill said. His voice sounded vaguely like Lincoln’s voice, but it still had multiple layers to it. “The **reason** he ran away, you see, was to **blab** about my **secrets** to the Pines. He **told** them about **Lincoln**.”

Gideon braced himself for Gaston’s reaction, even though the servants held Gaston’s back. Sure enough, his face turned purple with rage, and he surged against his captors. As much as Gideon hated the servants, he was supremely grateful that they were holding Gaston back. “How dare you,” the man spat. “You run away to do _this_? When I get my hands on you, Gideon, you’re going to—”

“That’s **enough** , Gaston,” said Bill, and one of the servants put a hand over Gaston’s mouth. “You **do** need a punishment, Gideon,” Bill continued, turning back to the boy. “I made a **promise** about what would happen if you **betrayed** me.”

“I don’t suppose you can break that promise,” Gideon said, his voice level despite his inner panic.

“I **can’t** , actually,” Bill replied. “ **But** , like I said, I’ll negotiate the **type** of punishment that you receive.”

Mabel made a whimpering sound.

“What’s wrong with Gideon telling us?” Dipper demanded. “We would’ve never found our uncle without him!”

“ **Exactly** ,” Bill said. “The whole **point** , **Shooting Star** , was to **keep** him from you.”

“Well, that’s dumb!”

Gideon smiled inwardly as Bill rolled his eyes. “Your **opinion** hardly **matters**.” He turned back to his prey. “The **truth** is, Gideon, that I’m a **busy guy**. Even if it **is** satisfying, punishing you makes things rather **inconvenient**. **Especially** if that punishment involves taking you back to the **Manor**.”

A tiny spark of hope flared to life in Gideon’s chest, though he tried to stomp it out. Bill wouldn’t actually let him stay here, right? Gideon would get hauled back to the Manor and tortured there. No point in hoping for anything else.

Mabel spoke up, and Gideon knew she had the same hope that he was trying to squelch. “Does that mean that he can stay here?”

“Of course not!” Gaston blustered. “He is coming with me!” Once again, the servants held him back as he surged forward.

“ **Potentially** ,” Bill said to Mabel. “I certainly don’t need you **getting in the way** at the Manor,” he added to Gideon. “So, I have a **proposition** for you. I’ll let you stay at the Museum with the Pines, **and** I’ll make sure that **nobody** in the Order comes after you, unless circumstances **change**.”

“What circumstances?” Gideon asked.

“Say, for example, if I **need** you to do something with your **amulet** ,” said Bill. “But we’re not **wiping memories** for the time being, and I hardly **trust** you. I **doubt** I’ll need you for **anything** , but I’m leaving myself an **opening**.”

“So, basically, you’ll let me stay here unless you need to kidnap me for some reason,” Gideon summarized. “What’s the punishment part?” He was surprised that he wouldn’t be forced to wipe memories, but he wasn’t complaining.

“ **Nightmares** ,” Bill replied. “You stay here, and I punish you with **nightmares**.”

A lump appeared in Gideon’s throat; he spoke around it. “Haven’t you already been sending me nightmares?”

“Those have **mostly** been from your own brain,” said Bill, “although it is hard to **resist** adding a bit of **flare** to them. **These** , though, would be generated in a **wonderful** , **horrific** mixture of **my** powers and **your** fears. **And** ,” he added, glancing to the Pines, “if anyone **wakes him up** in the process, I’ll just extend the punishment.”

“How long will it be if no one wakes me up?” Gideon asked. He had experience keeping his emotions in check, but even he was surprised that he could still hold a coherent conversation. He was terrified.

Bill shrugged. “Oh, I’ll let that be a **surprise**. Definitely more than **one night**.” He smiled vindictively and took a step closer to Gideon, who forced himself not to flinch. “Are you **scared** yet?” Bill asked.

Gideon hated seeing that look on Lincoln’s face, and he hated that the answer to Bill’s question was an unequivocal yes.

He felt a hand in his and turned in surprise to see Mabel. Bill opened his mouth in annoyance, but Gideon cut him off. “The Pines can touch me,” he said. He doubted Mabel cared about breaking Bill’s rule, anyway. Mabel squeezed his hand and gave him, if not a smile, then a look of support.

“You said this was a proposition,” said Gideon. “Does that mean I have a choice in the matter?”

“Your options are either **this** or getting **taken back** to your Manor and being subject to whatever **Gaston** has in mind. I assume you’ll want to take my offer.”

“You have no right.” Gaston tried to move forward but was once again stopped. “He is my son, and I demand to take care of him as I see fit. You have no right, Cipher!”

“ **Do I?** ” Bill cast an unimpressed look on Gaston. “I do recall you **swearing** your **loyalty** to me once. I believe that means **obeying** me when I tell you to let **me** handle this.”

Gideon certainly didn’t want Gaston to handle it, but he didn’t think Bill was any better. From the way that Mabel held his hand, she probably didn’t think so either. She clutched Gideon’s hand so tightly that Gideon thought she might break his fingers. He didn’t mind, for the pain gave him something to focus on besides the raw fear pooling in his stomach.

“If I get to stay here,” he finally said, “then I’ll take the first option.” His mind screamed at him not to accept Bill’s punishment; but if he had to make a choice, then this was better than going with Gaston.

Bill nodded. “That’s what I **thought**. Don’t make me **regret** letting you stay here, though.”

Gideon drew himself up to as tall of a height as his fear would let him. “I’ve already defied you by telling the Pines about Lincoln,” he said. “Don’t think I’m not your enemy, Cipher.”

Bill gave him a predatory smile. “We’ll see how **brave** you are after my **nightmares**.” With a wave, he addressed the Northwest servants. “Let’s head out.”

The servants moved to the gift shop door opposite the vending machine. Bill, however, didn’t go with them. “Wait a moment,” he called. Then he stared off into the distance.

“I think he’s listening to Lee,” Ford said quietly.

After a moment, Bill spoke again. "All right. Even though I've been **betrayed** , I'm feeling **merciful** today." He turned to the servants. "Change of plans. Take **Gaston** back to the Manor, then head to the Order library and start **researching** the prophecies for the next **step**. I'll appear in your dreams **tonight** to get a report, and I'll join you in this body **tomorrow**." He nodded to the servants, and they opened the door.

A cold wind blew into the gift shop, adding to that which leaked through the broken window. The cold helped bring Gideon's mind into focus. He couldn't quite believe what was happening, and he tried to stave off any positive emotions like relief or hope, in case it was all some kind of scam.

The servants pushed Gaston out of the Museum and filed out, leaving the gift shop mostly empty. The last servant to leave closed the door behind him.

Mabel let out a pent-up breath, and Gideon silently agreed. Her grip loosened on his hand, though she didn't move it away entirely.

"What did Lee say?" asked Ford.

"He doesn't want me to go with the Northwests," Bill answered. "He wants me to let him stay here with **you**."

Ford breathed deeply. "And will you let him?" he asked. His voice was controlled, but just barely.

" **Yes** ," Bill said. He turned a firm gaze from Ford to the wall (where Gideon assumed Lee was) and back again. "I'll **vacate** Lee's body, and I'll stay out for. . . oh, let's say around **eighteen hours**." He smiled like he was proud of himself for the symbolism. "It's about **four-thirty P.M.** now—"

"Wait, what?" said Ford.

Bill went to the door and opened it. "It's almost **dark** , see? Time jumped forward. The **portal** opened at ten fourteen A.M., and time immediately jumped to one thirty-seven P.M. It's been about three hours since then."

Gideon and the Pines all shared alarmed glances. "But. . . how. . . ?" asked Ford.

"I'm sure you'd rather **Lee** explain it than me," Bill replied. "Not that he understands it **nearly** as well as I do. Have fun resetting all your **clocks**." He glanced in Lee's direction again. "Yes, **shocking** , isn't it? I must be **very confident**." He pushed the vending machine closed and sat on the ground, leaning against the machine. "By the way," he said, looking towards Lee, "if you don't **leave** by **ten A.M.** tomorrow, I'll **possess** you and head back to the Order **myself**." A moment passed, and Bill glanced to Ford. " **No**."

"No, what?" said Ford.

"Do you want me to leave or **not**?" Bill asked irritably. "Well, have **fun** , boys. Don't bother telling him **too** many of my secrets, Lee — I doubt there's much **anyone** can do at this point to **stop** me." Then he looked to Gideon. Even though Bill was sitting on the ground, Gideon still felt as if the demon were looming over him. "I **look forward** to your **dreams** tonight, **Lone Wolf**."

With that, Bill closed his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Lincoln saw when he opened his eyes was Gideon’s terrified face. The boy was doing a good job of hiding it, but Lincoln could see through to the hidden fear. Gideon’s posture was rigid, and his fingers did a little dance as they brushed against Mabel’s.

“Lee? Are you okay?” Ford stood over him and offered a hand to help him to his feet. Lincoln took it, standing with some alarming cracks from his bones.

“Grunkle Lee,” said Dipper, “that was terrible.”

Lincoln closed his eyes. “I know,” he said.

“How?” whispered Mabel. “How could he just. . . take over like that?”

“An old deal,” Lee said quietly. “We made a deal years ago that he could take over whenever he wanted.”

There was a beat of silence. “What did _you_ get out of it?” asked Dipper.

Lincoln’s closed eyes squeezed further together. “I. . . would rather not share.”

When no one responded, Lee opened his eyes. Half of the faces in the room looked at him, the other half at the floor. All expressions were pained.

“Gideon,” said Lincoln, and the boy flinched at the sound of his name. “Thank you.”

Gideon looked up, surprised. “Thank you?” he repeated. “Why? I. . . I thought you’d be angry with me.”

“Why would I be angry with you?” Then he remembered: Gideon didn’t know about his amnesia. Lincoln often lost track of who did and didn’t know. Those who were in the Order before Percy’s death knew, and some of their children; but after Lincoln had taken over, the information wasn’t widely disseminated. “No,” he told Gideon, “I’m not angry. You helped more today than you even know.”

Gideon looked confused, but Dipper spoke before anyone else could. “Okay, but why is it dark outside? I thought it was the middle of the day!”

Oh, right. “I’ll do my best to explain that,” Lincoln said, “although Bill was right when he said I don’t know as much as he does.”

“Come explain to Melody, too,” said Dipper. “She’s back in Ford’s room with Fidds.”

“Fidds?” Lincoln looked to Ford in alarm.

Ford nodded with a sullen expression on his face. “Like Dipper said, he and Melody are in my room. Last I heard, Fidds was unconscious. Melody is taking care of him.” He sighed. “Dipper is right that Melody will want to know all of this. It’s probably better to explain it to all of us at once.”

That made sense, so Lincoln followed Ford from the gift shop. The kids lagged behind; Lincoln noticed that they — Mabel in particular — didn’t walk too closely to him. It was a painful observation to make.

When they got to the entry way, Ford took off his trenchcoat and hung it on the coatrack. Then he started down the hall. “What did you say to Cipher,” he asked Lincoln, “before he left?”

Lee thought back to that exchange. “After he told me to explain about the time bubble, I told him that he seemed very open with his secrets. That’s when he mentioned being confident. Then, I asked him if you could walk with me to the Order tomorrow. You heard him say no.” He glanced sideways at Ford. “I’m sorry,” he added. “I wish I could’ve gotten more time. But Bill made it seem like we’d be very busy starting tomorrow.”

“Busy doing what?”

“Preparing for his escape,” Lincoln replied.

A shudder went through Ford’s body, but he didn’t say anything else. A moment later, he stopped outside a door and knocked on it.

It wasn’t too long before the door opened, revealing Melody. She took in the small group around the door and looked unsurprised to see Gideon or Lincoln. She gave Lincoln a relieved smile. “Welcome home,” she said.

A stray tear or two escaped from Lee’s eye.

“Gideon’s going to stay with us,” said Mabel. “And. . . so is Grunkle Lee, at least t-tonight.”

Melody’s eyes widened slightly. “We’ll have to figure out sleeping arrangements,” she said, “but it’ll be fine. Why did you all come to Ford’s room?”

Lincoln let out a breath. “I have some things to explain. We thought we should all be together.”

Melody glanced back into Ford’s room. “One moment.” She disappeared into the room, then reappeared with a device that looked like a baby monitor. “Okay,” she said, “let’s go to the living room.”

“Is that a baby monitor?” asked Dipper as they went.

She shrugged. “Essentially. It’s so I can hear Fidds while I’m in a different room, if he wakes up. Helpful when you’re a geriatric nurse.”

Lincoln thought he saw Ford turn a little pink at that.

In the living room, Lee and Ford took the couch while the others stood or sat on the floor. “First,” Lincoln said, “I should explain something to those who don’t know yet. This information isn’t spread in the Order these days, Gideon; and Melody, I think this might explain my earlier behavior.” He took a deep breath and once again explained his amnesia. Both Gideon’s and Melody’s eyes widened, the former with clarity and the latter with sympathy. “So, Gideon, if you hadn’t told the Pines about me, I never would’ve known that they were my family.” He gave the boy a soft smile. “Thank you.”

It had only been a few hours since Lincoln had met Ford. The pain was still raw, and the confusion was still strong. But, somewhere deep inside, Lincoln knew that this was ultimately a good thing. Gideon had opened the door for a lot of pain, but somewhere in that pain was healing. Lincoln had a _family_ , even if he didn’t remember them.

“I think Melody should know about your deal with Bill, too,” said Mabel quietly.

Lincoln looked to her. She probably felt betrayed that neither Lincoln nor Ford had explained Lee’s deal before Bill took over. He couldn’t blame her. “I’m sorry, Mabel. I should have told you before. . . before it was too late. Originally, Bill wanted to come here and go straight to talking with Gideon. I’m just glad that I convinced him to let me meet you first.”

Mabel’s voice was small as she said, “He promised he wouldn’t take over again tonight, right?”

“Right. Not for eighteen hours.” Melody looked rather confused at this point, so Lee reluctantly explained to her that Bill could possess Lee’s body whenever he wanted. “But, he said he wouldn’t do it again until tomorrow after ten. He has to keep his word.”

He saw a hint of the same distrust in Melody’s face that he saw in the children’s. Never before today had he wished so strongly that he’d never made that deal.

“Now,” said Ford. “Why did Bill say it was four-thirty?”

“What?” said Melody.

Ford gestured out the diamond-shaped window in the door to show her the darkness outside. “I believe you said something about a time bubble earlier,” he said to Lincoln. “What’s that?”

Lincoln took a steadying breath, unsure of how well he could explain. “Bill said that the portal opened just after ten A.M. and that time jumped forward about three and a half hours from there,” he said. “Except. . . well, time didn’t really jump forward. One thirty-seven was simply when the time bubble went up in the first place.” This only seemed to add more confusion, so he tried a different tactic. “Does anyone know what date it is?”

“Of course,” said Melody. “It’s January. . .” She trailed off.

“January tenth?” Dipper tried. “Or. . . or is it February, now?”

“It’s January fifth,” said Lincoln. “It’s been January fifth every day for weeks now.”

Silence.

“ _What?_ ” said Ford.

“Wait,” said Mabel. “Dipper and I only got here on January second. Right, Dip? We celebrated New Years Day, then went to Gravity Rises the next day. But. . . but we’ve been here for. . .” She also trailed off as she couldn’t think of the number.

“You two got here on January second,” said Lincoln, “and I believe it was Pacifica who came here on January fifth. She was the ninth member of the Cipher Wheel to come to Gravity Rises. The moment she came into town, we. . . I don’t really know how to explain it, but this whole forest sort of. . . separated from the rest of time. We’ve been living the same day over and over, all crammed into the space of January fifth. Until now.”

“What’s different now?” asked Gideon.

“Now, the tenth Symbol is here,” Lincoln replied. “Time went back to normal — it was ten AM for us but one-thirty in the real timeline, so time jumped forward for us — and a barrier went up around the town.”

“The invisible wall?” said Melody.

Well, none of the others knew about the invisible wall, so Melody explained the car accident and the wall and how the Corduroys said it was related to the Cipher Wheel. “I wanted to ask them more, but I was more concerned about finding you,” she said to Lincoln.

“I haven’t been to the wall yet,” Lincoln said, “but yes, that’s the barrier. It should be around the entire forest — all the supernatural creatures here, as well as the town.”

“Why?” Mabel asked.

“To separate us from the rest of this dimension,” Lincoln said. “Bill is imprisoned here — he has been for millennia — and to escape, he needs this area detached for some reason. He didn’t know _how_ to detach it, and he thought that the portal was a danger to him. But Fiddleford’s return stopped the time bubble and formed the barrier. What Bill needed all along was his ten Symbols to be in town with him.”

Ford looked horrified. “We helped him,” he whispered. “We thought we were defying him — we thought we were saving you — when all along we were helping him.”

This comment settled around the living room like ashes.

Then Dipper spoke up. “So, you’re telling us,” he said, “that it’s January fifth; time has been on a loop since our first week here; now, time isn’t on a loop; and we’re trapped here? For how long?”

Mabel realized the implications of what he was saying, and her face turned pale. “Mom and Dad,” she said. “If we’re trapped in here. . . how will we get home at the end of our break?”

“I haven’t even _thought_ about Mom and Dad for weeks!” Dipper added. He sounded a bit hysterical.

Melody sat beside him and put an arm around him. A few feet away, Gideon took Mabel’s hand, and she leaned against his shoulder.

“I don’t know entirely how it works,” Lincoln said. “The only way out, I believe, is to form the Cipher Wheel with all ten of us.”

“But _you_ can’t,” said Ford. He sounded angry, and Lincoln worried that it was directed at him. “You made that stupid deal with Bill, and you apparently can’t join the Cipher Wheel. He made it sound like he’s already won.”

“I don’t know,” Lincoln said, his voice small.

Mabel took deeper and louder breaths, and Dipper trembled in Melody’s arms. Lincoln’s heart broke for them, and he knew that Ford was right: that it was Lincoln’s fault if they couldn’t get out of this.

“It doesn’t feel like the same day happening over and over for weeks,” said Gideon. “The weather’s been different on different days. The Internet worked, at least for a little while. Even the _tourists_ have been different, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yeah,” Dipper said, sitting up straight. “How did Amanda get in and out if she got here _after_ we met Pacifica? How could she and I email for a while?”

Lincoln didn’t know who Amanda was, but he tried to answer the questions regardless. “I’m really not sure how it works,” he said. “I think the two timelines — ours, stuck on the fifth; and the rest of the world, continuing forward in time — overlapped in some ways. Or, we simply didn’t notice if the weather was on a three-day loop. And the tourists may not have been real people, just projections of whatever magic caused the time bubble.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Amanda is a real person,” he said firmly.

“She got here through a portal, remember,” said Ford, “and left the same way. She had different circumstances than your run-of-the-mill tourist.”

“I really don’t know,” said Lincoln. “I do remember Cipher commenting that he thought the Internet and cell service should have cut out a lot earlier than they did. Whatever the magic is, it’s powerful. It repeated things or simulated them or inserted them from the normal timeline or something else, and it did it in a way that none of us even noticed it.”

“But you knew,” said Gideon.

Lincoln conceded that point with a nod. “Because Cipher told me about it. I mostly took his word for it.”

“Who else knew?” Ford asked.

“I believe only Cipher and I knew about it as it was happening. The time bubble in general is known by Order members who study the prophecies about Bill’s escape. So is the barrier.”

The room fell silent as everyone digested this overwhelming information.

“We lived for weeks, even _months_ , in a single day,” Mabel whispered.

“January fifth,” said Dipper. “Our third full day that we spent here. We found the third Journal that day, didn’t we? Everything between finding the Journal and opening the portal. . . that was _all_ in this time bubble thing?”

“I guess so,” said Gideon.

Mabel let out a quiet, hysterical laugh. “Everything terrible that happened with Pacifica and Bill was all in the same day.”

“Not exactly,” said Lincoln. “We still lived however many days there were for us. But, yes. In terms of the regular timeline, we did all of that in one day. Actually,” he added, “the day isn’t even over yet. It’s still January fifth.”

Melody let out her own hysterical laugh at that. “To think, Ford,” she said, a little too loudly, “we hadn’t even met the twins a week ago.”

“I don’t think it’s funny at all,” Gideon muttered.

This comment quieted the room. Gideon was right: It wasn’t funny in the least. To see the five faces in front of him, all horrified by what he’d just told them, made Lincoln feel terrible. The time bubble wasn’t his fault, but. . . he had deliberately kept the information from everyone around him.

Kind of like how everyone around him had deliberately kept Stanford from him.

The six of them — Lincoln, Ford, Gideon, Melody, Mabel, and Dipper — sat silently around the room. Melody gently rubbed Dipper’s back, and Mabel and Gideon were stock still as they sat together. Lincoln glanced to Ford, who managed to return the gaze for a moment before his eyes slid away.

Through the window, the night fell.


	10. Chapter 10

After a few minutes of silence, Melody spoke up. “How are we supposed to reset the clocks? They’re not going to move on their own, are they?” She glanced at the analog wall clock, which had its hands pointing to about one fifteen.

“I think only Cipher knows what time it is exactly,” Lincoln said. “I can ask him tomorrow and get some of the clocks reset at the Order and the Northwest Manor, and hopefully the correct time will spread around town.”

Melody frowned. “That’s right,” she said. “Mabel said you would only be here tonight. Why?”

Lincoln shrugged uncomfortably. “Cipher needs me,” he said. “Either I leave tomorrow morning, or he takes over and leaves himself.”

The room went quiet at this reminder that Lincoln only had so much time here. It wasn’t fair, he thought, that the day he met his real family would be the day that was three hours shorter than all the rest. It wasn’t fair that much of the time allotted to him by Cipher would be taken by the night.

It wasn’t fair that Cipher could keep him away from his family.

Another minute of silence. “Well,” said Melody, “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry for lunch.” She glanced to the darkness outside the front window. “I guess I’ll make dinner now, and we’ll just hope that our biological clocks reset soon.”

“I’ll cook,” Lincoln offered. “You should take care of Fiddleford.”

Ford stared at him. “You. . . you still cook?” he asked.

The question brought a smile to Lee’s face. “I knew I must have done it in my old life,” he said, “or else how could I be so good at it?”

Ford laughed out loud at this. “You saved my life with food when you lived with me. I hadn’t eaten so well in _years_.”

“I’ll show you what I was planning, if you want to use that.” Melody looked relieved that someone else was doing the cooking for a change.

Lincoln wasn’t sure if he would go with her plans, but he agreed anyway. With that, the meeting was disbanded. Lincoln and Melody went to the kitchen; Ford and Gideon went to the gift shop to grab something that Gideon had left behind the vending machine; Mabel and Dipper disappeared to their attic room.

Melody had just left the kitchen when Ford returned. He leaned in the entry arch as Lee searched the kitchen for supplies. “I’d help,” Ford said, “but I’m afraid Melody knows my kitchen better than I do.”

Lee looked up. “I’ll be okay,” he said.

The kitchen lapsed into silence. Lee found the ingredients and dishes while Ford watched. Every time Lee glanced at Ford, the man looked deep in thought. This arrangement — Lee cooking while Ford stood to the side — gave Lincoln a faint sense of déjà vu.

Ten minutes later, when Lincoln’s pot had just begun to boil, Ford spoke up. “Cipher said he’d leave you alone tonight,” he said.

Lee glanced up from the stove. “Yes.” He wasn’t sure where Ford was going with this.

“Well, he can’t go back on his word. This may be our only chance.”

“For what?”

“To activate the Cipher Wheel.”

Lincoln paused. “Tonight?”

“All ten of us are in town boundaries. You said so yourself.” Ford took a confident step forward. “We already have over half the Wheel in this house alone. We need to try.”

Lee poured a box of pasta into the boiling pot and turned down the heat. “Will Fiddleford be able to join us? Isn’t he still unconscious?”

“We can try to wake him up.”

“I don’t think Pacifica would be willing,” Lincoln continued, “and we would have to go back to the Order to get her. Then, with the seven of us here plus Pacifica, that still leaves two people that we’d have to find.”

“Do you want to get rid of Bill or not?” Ford snapped.

Lincoln froze. In his periphery, he saw Ford cringe as he realized what he’d said and to whom he’d said it. “Do you?” Ford asked quietly. He seemed afraid of the answer.

Lee braced his hands on the counter and let out a long sigh. Some kind of Order leader he was, if people thought he might want to work against Bill Cipher.

But. . . well, he _did_. The realization frightened him, but he knew that this change in loyalty had been coming for a while. After selling his soul, he’d assumed that he had no choice but to help Bill. What had once been an enthusiastic willingness gradually became a sense of duty. Then, as he studied lesser-known books in the Order library that spoke against Lord Cipher, even his sense of duty wavered. After years of going through the motions, today was the last straw: Today, Lincoln met Stanford and discovered Bill’s network of lies.

Bill had mentioned that Lee might become his enemy after today. After so many years of being his ally, such a change would bring uncertainty and fear. And, as Bill had also pointed out, it may not make much of a difference. No matter how Lincoln felt, Bill could still use him to his advantage.

But, as Lincoln thought of the pain that the demon brought to him and his newfound family, he knew that he could no longer pretend to be on Bill’s side.

Ford stayed silent as Lincoln thought. Finally, “Yes,” said Lee. “But I’m also trying to be practical. I don’t think we can start the Wheel tonight.” Plus, he added silently, I got this night so that I could spend time with you. Not so that we could worry about ancient prophecies.

Ford’s sigh was both relieved and frustrated. “We should at least figure out who everyone is on the Wheel, then,” he said. “We can do that over dinner.”

Lincoln wanted to protest — his first real family dinner, and Ford wanted to spend it going over the Cipher Wheel? — but he refrained. If they really wanted to fight against Bill, then they had to get started as soon as possible. He nodded, then turned back to the food.

Another stretch of silence fell over the kitchen, though it was more comfortable than before. The twilight darkness from the kitchen window made it feel like Lincoln had been here a lot longer than he had. Had it really only been three hours since he’d met Ford? No, not even that — it’d been three hours since the gravitational anomalies had stopped, and Lincoln hadn’t met Ford for at least half an hour after that. Yet, with the setting of the sun and the familiarity of the Mystery Museum, it seemed as if much more time had passed.

As Lincoln finished cooking the food, Ford disappeared and reappeared with a pen, a paper, and a book. Lee cast a curious look at the book’s maroon cover and the gilded six-fingered hand. “That looks familiar,” he said.

Ford glanced up. “You read my Journals once or twice when you lived with me.”

“No. . . not that kind of familiar.” Lincoln stared at the book. “I’ve read something that looks just like that.”

Ford paused. “Did it have a one on the cover instead of a two?” Lee nodded. “That’s the first Journal,” Ford said. “It was in the Order library until we took it back.”

“That’s what you stole?” Bill never did tell Lincoln what the Pines had taken, but it made sense. The book had Stanford’s name written on the first page, after all.

Ford nodded, and a smile found its way onto his face. “If you’ve read the first Journal,” he said, “then you had something of mine. Even if you didn’t remember me.”

“It did feel like I’d read it before,” Lincoln realized. “I just assumed I’d found it years earlier and forgotten about it.” He smiled. “I started to respect you after reading your Journal,” he added.

“Why, thank you.” Ford flipped through the pages of the Journal in front of him. “I wrote this one — the second one — before I met Bill. But I found the Cipher Wheel in the cave of prophecies, and I copied it down here.” He reached a page with a sketch of the Wheel. “I never did try the summoning spell,” he said, glancing down at the incantation written beneath the Wheel, “but Bill still found me.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to summon him, anyway,” Lincoln said. “Then you would’ve had to make a deal.” The first time he’d summoned Bill had ended with him selling his soul. He knew firsthand how serious it was to formally call upon the demon.

Ford redrew the Cipher Wheel onto his loose sheet of paper, then glanced at the pasta casserole as Lincoln moved it off the burner. “Is that ready? I’ll go get everyone.” With a nod from Lee, he left the kitchen.

A moment later, Gideon came in. He looked subdued — understandable, after Bill’s promise of punishment. Lincoln wondered if the boy would be able to sleep at all tonight. “Northwest,” said Lincoln with a nod.

Gideon glanced to him. “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

Lincoln paused. “Why?” If anything, he felt that _he_ should be sorry. After all, Gideon would be terrorized by Bill on account of him.

“For not telling you,” came the reply. “I should’ve told you about Stanford years ago. Or told Stanford about you.”

Lincoln transferred the casserole from the stove to a potholder on the table. The movement brought him closer to Gideon. “Wouldn’t Cipher still have gotten his revenge?” he asked softly.

Gideon gave a slight nod. “Everybody’s under threat from Bill if they give up the secret.”

Lincoln’s eyes closed briefly, then opened to look at Gideon. “Then I still thank you for being the one brave enough to defy him.”

Soon, Mabel and Dipper entered the kitchen. Their quiet natures and splotchy faces were a stark contrast to their enthusiasm from earlier, when they ran down the hall to greet Lee. Ford and Melody joined them soon after, carrying two extra chairs; and Melody quickly set the table, which Lincoln hadn’t gotten around to yet. Only a minute passed before the six of them sat at the table. It was crowded, as the table was really only meant for four people, but they all managed to fit.

Once they’d all served themselves, Ford pulled the paper and the pen from where it rested on his lap. “I want to try something,” he said, and he showed everyone the Cipher Wheel that he’d drawn on the paper. “Between the six of us, can we figure out who everyone is?”

Gideon leaned forward. “Good idea. I’m the Lone Wolf.”

Ford wrote Gideon’s name next to the symbol of the wolf. “I’m the hand,” he added, writing his name beside the six-fingered hand. “Mabel’s the pine tree, and Melody’s the question mark, and Dipper. . . you’re the shooting star, right?”

Dipper nodded.

“Pacifica is the moon with the eye,” Gideon said.

Ford wrote all the names on the paper, then looked to Lincoln. “We thought you were the upside-down triangle,” he said, “because we thought you were inside the portal, and the portal looks almost exactly like that. But. . . what did Bill call you, again?”

“Blind Eye,” Lee replied. He pointed at the symbol opposite the six-fingered hand. “That’s where ‘Blind Lincoln’ came from.” That, and his amnesia, to which he assumed the Blind Eye symbol referred in the first place.

Stanford started writing by the symbol of the crossed-out eye, and Lee’s stomach flipped as he saw the letters S-T appear on the page. Then, with a pause, Ford glanced up at his brother. “Oh. Right,” he said quietly. He scribbled out the S-T — the beginnings of the name Stanley — and simply wrote Lee.

Now the Wheel had seven labelled symbols. The remaining three were the ice bag, the heart, and the upside-down triangle. “If Grunkle Lee isn’t the portal one,” said Dipper, “then would that be Fidds?”

“Fiddleford is a Symbol,” Lincoln said. “Cipher told me. He didn’t say which one.”

“The portal is the most likely option.” Ford wrote Fiddleford’s name underneath the upside-down triangle. Then, after a pause, he added a question mark. “But it’s not a certainty.”

“Robbie’s on here,” Mabel said. “I don’t know if he’s the ice bag or the heart.”

“Ice bag, I think,” said Gideon. Ford added Robbie’s name above the ice bag and put a question mark after it.

“That leaves the heart,” said Lincoln. “Or. . . the broken heart. What are those, stitches?”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Stitched Heart!” he suddenly said. “Mabel, didn’t Bill call Wendy the Stitched Heart? When we were in Robbie’s mind?”

Mabel nodded. “I think he did.”

Ford added Wendy’s name, followed by a question mark, since the twins didn’t sound entirely sure. “That’s everyone, then,” he said.

Lincoln studied the paper. “I don’t know who Wendy is,” he said, though that wasn’t too surprising. Really, it was surprising that hers was the _only_ name he didn’t recognize.

“She’s Danny Valentino’s daughter,” Gideon said. “Her dad and brothers are brought in all the time, but not her.”

Lincoln nodded. Made sense, if she was on the Wheel. “Have you tried reading the minds of everyone on here, Gideon? Is there anybody we’re wrong about?”

“We’re right about the six of us,” Gideon said. “Not that. . . not that I’ve ever tried to read your mind, Blind Lincoln,” he added, “but if Cipher told you, then we know. I’ve never met Fiddleford, but you said that Cipher told you about him as well. And you remember that I tried to wipe Robbie once and couldn’t. Pacifica is definitely on the Wheel — Cipher said so, and I can’t read her mind — and I tried to read Wendy once, because I thought it was weird that she was never brought down to the Order. She’s immune. I think we’re right about all the people — and which symbols they are.”

“Good,” said Ford. He poised his pen over the remaining space on the paper. “Now, what’s stopping us from activating the Wheel?”

“Fiddleford is still unconscious,” said Melody.

“Pacifica loves Bill,” Gideon added. “I don’t think she’d want to join us.”

Ford listed the problems on the paper.

“We’d have to find Wendy and Robbie,” said Melody. “Last I heard, they were out in the forest.”

“I hope they get back soon, then,” Ford said as he added another entry on his list. “The forest can be dangerous at night.”

The table went quiet as everyone ate. Lincoln found his eyes intent on his food. His meal, which should have been delicious, suddenly tasted like cardboard in his mouth. There was something else to add to Ford’s list. Another problem — the biggest problem of all.

He glanced upward and found Ford watching him. “Then. . . there’s you,” Ford said softly.

Lee looked away.

“Is there _any_ chance?” he heard Gideon ask.

“What do you think, Lee?” Ford added. “Is there?”

“I don’t know.” Lincoln couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “Cipher can take over at any time. He could. . . he could definitely stop me from helping with the prophecy. The Cipher Wheel needs physical contact between the Symbols, and if I’m not physical. . .” He closed his eyes briefly. “I’m sorry,” he said, and his voice was just above a whisper.

Ford leaned forward. “We’ll try whatever we can,” he said. “The creatures in the forest might be able to help. We can go out and—”

“You said yourself that the forest was dangerous at night,” Melody countered. “We’re not going to get anything done tonight. Even with. . . with Stanley’s limitations, we still have other problems. Tonight, we need to rest. All of us.”

Gideon made a small noise of derision — or maybe it was fear. Lincoln glanced to him. _He_ probably wouldn’t be getting any rest tonight.

Melody didn’t know about Gideon’s situation, so she continued on. “I think you, Ford, and you, Stanley—”

“Lee,” he said. “Just call me Lee, please.”

She nodded. “Well, if Lee is only going to be here for one night, then I think you two need the time together. We all need to adjust to the time jump — and I’m still on edge from the gravitational anomalies, myself. Let’s just. . . let’s just take it easy tonight.”

“But tonight may be our only chance!” Ford insisted.

“We _don’t_ have a chance tonight,” Melody said. “I doubt Fiddleford will wake up anytime soon, and these poor kids are dropping off with exhaustion.”

“I’m fine,” Dipper said. Lee could hear the sleepiness in his voice. Bill had left about an hour ago, which meant it was only five-thirty in the evening — only about two P.M. for everyone’s biological clocks. Still, Melody was right that the children — and the adults, for that matter — were exhausted. Nobody had slept well during the gravitational anomalies, and the darkness outside only made them more tired.

“You’re not fine, Dip,” Melody said gently. “We’ve all had a long day, even with losing three hours.”

“But we can’t go to _bed_ yet,” Dipper insisted. “It’s not late! If Grunkle Lee is only gonna be here for one night, then we need to spend time with him!”

“He has a point,” said Ford. “If we aren’t going to try the prophecy tonight, then we should spend time together, like you said, Melody.” He finished the last of his pasta casserole and smiled at Lincoln. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed your cooking, Lee.”

Lincoln smiled back. Melody was right: They needed this time together. He wouldn’t think about the prophecy — or his potential inability to help with it — anymore tonight. Tonight was for family. Tonight was for _his_ family.

“I’m going to go check on Fidds, and then I’ll clean up,” Melody said, standing up.

“Are you sure? I can help,” Lee offered.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Melody. “This is why Ford pays me.”

“She’s right,” Ford said. He got to his feet, folded the paper with the Cipher Wheel, and stuck it in his pocket. “Let’s go to the living room.”

Lee stood as well. He didn’t like the idea of leaving a dirty kitchen without cleaning up, but he would let Melody take over if she wanted. She smiled at him before she left the kitchen and headed to Ford’s room.

“What should we do, Grunkle Lee?” Dipper bounced to his feet. He seemed determined to stave off any tiredness with enthusiasm. “Play a game? Build snowmen? Go sledding?”

“It’s too dark to go outside,” Ford said. He looked like he was going to say more, but he thought the better of it. He closed his mouth and nodded to Lee.

“True,” said Lee. “How about a card game? I’m good at solitaire, but I don’t know much else.”

Ford smiled, though it was tainted with sadness. “I could teach you your favorite game,” he said, “back when you lived with me. I’m sure you’ll pick it up quickly.”

“Sounds great.” Lincoln followed Ford from the kitchen; Mabel, Dipper, and Gideon followed. Ford took some decks of cards from a cupboard above the fireplace and led everyone to a table in the back of the room. There, he started teaching them a speed-based game with five small piles on the table per player and two central piles to play on. The game felt very familiar to Lee. It was only a two-player game, so the children made up their own three-player version as Ford and Lee played together. It only took a few rounds before Lee was solidly beating Ford at a game he’d only just learned.

“You seem to recognize it,” Ford said with a shake of his head and a smile.

“I don’t know if ‘recognize’ is the right word.” Lee gathered up his cards and prepared for the next round. “It just feels familiar.”

“What do you mean?”

Lee shrugged. “Cipher explained it to me once. He said that my memories were gone, but. . . the old brain pathways that I used are still there. They’re just not connected to specific memories anymore, and a lot of them have been dormant for thirty years. So. . . I guess, when you taught me this game, it woke up the pathway that I used when I played it. It seems. . . natural, and familiar, but there’s still no tangible memory. I don’t remember ever playing it with you, even though it feels. . . right.” He cracked a smile. “I’ve been feeling a _lot_ of déjà vu today.”

Ford gave him an indecipherable look. “Wow,” he said simply.

“Grunkle Lee, can I play you now?” Dipper tapped his uncle on the shoulder and grinned at him.

Well, Lee couldn’t say no to that face. “Sure,” he said. So it was that they all took turns playing two separate games, while the fifth person watched. Dipper lost cheerfully, though Mabel gave Lincoln a run for his money. Gideon seemed hesitant to play at all, and more hesitant to play against his cult leader; but, once Lincoln convinced him, they played a close game that Gideon eventually won.

After hours of playing and talking about nothing important, Melody appeared and said it was time for bed. Dipper protested this amidst yawns, and Mabel and Gideon shared a worried look. “I’ll grab you the air mattress, Gideon,” said Melody, “and you can sleep on the floor of the attic, outside the twins’ room. Ford and Lee, what do you want to do?”

The brothers shared a glance. Lee didn’t think they would get much sleep tonight, what with all the catching up they had to do. “We’ll just stay in here on the couch,” Ford said. “We’ll figure something out.”

Melody nodded, like she had predicted this response. “I wish I had an air mattress to offer you, Lee, but we only have one.”

“It’s fine,” Lincoln assured her.

“Where are you gonna sleep, Melody?” asked Dipper. “Don’t you usually take the couch?”

She shrugged. “I’ll grab some blankets and sleep on the floor of Ford’s room. It’s not glamorous, but I’ll be able to hear Fidds if he needs me.”

Ford looked disgruntled that his bed was occupied by Fiddleford, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ll come help with the air mattress,” Gideon said. “And. . . thank you.”

“Of course.” Melody and Gideon left. Mabel touched Dipper’s arm and murmured something about getting in pajamas. Dipper opened his mouth to argue, but Mabel gave him a significant look and glanced at Lee and Ford. With that, the younger twins went up the stairs.

Ford stood, put the cards away, and settled on the couch. Lincoln joined him. “I thought,” Ford admitted, “that I’d be the one asking you a million questions about what it was like to be in another dimension. But. . . well, is there anything you want to know? About. . . about your past?”

Lincoln thought about this question. Ever since his first deal with Bill in 1983, he hadn’t worried about his lost memories. Bill’s power had suppressed his desire to regain his memory, and this had made it much easier to live with his amnesia. Now, he didn’t have a chance to get his memory back; but he had a chance to have his past life explained to him by his very own brother, who had lived much of it by his side.

He found that he wanted that explanation. Even if he couldn’t remember, he wanted to know about life with Ford before his memory loss. Thirty years as Blind Lincoln hadn’t completely erased his inner confusion about who he really was, and Ford could help ease that confusion.

“Yes,” Lee finally said. “I want to know. . . everything.” His eyes locked on Ford’s. “Tell me everything about who I used to be.”


	11. Chapter 11

**SPRING 1987**

“Gaston Northwest turns eighteen next month,” Percy commented.

Lincoln glanced at him across the table. He, Percy, and Eleanor (or, Ellie) sat together in the dining room of the Order headquarters, eating a meal of Lee’s making. The table was a gift from Percy two years ago, given to celebrate when Lincoln had officially joined the Order. Lincoln sometimes felt that the position was more honorary than anything — after all, the most common duty in the Order was to bring people down to headquarters for a memory wipe, and Lincoln never went into town — but Percy still treated him as a member of full standing, and Lincoln felt like a part of things.

Now, after Percy’s comment, Lincoln tried to make sense of the statement. When he didn’t answer for a few moments, Ellie turned to Percy and said, “I don’t think he knows what that means, dear.”

Lincoln glared at her. “I know it means he’s an adult. I’m not stupid.” Since his first deal with Bill four years ago, Lincoln didn’t mind his missing memory nearly as much. But he _did_ mind being treated like a child because of it. “I just don’t know what Gaston’s birthday has to do with anything,” he clarified.

“She wasn’t implying that you didn’t know about his adulthood,” Percy said calmly. “There’s something else.”

“And what’s that?”

“When Gaston turns eighteen,” Ellie said, “he won’t be able to use the amulet anymore.”

Lee frowned. “Really?”

Percy nodded. “The amulet only works for children. The youngest age that someone can use it is when they turn eight years old, and they lose the ability at eighteen. That’s why Gaston uses the amulet and not, say, me.”

“Also because the Northwests are greedy,” Ellie added. “They’ve claimed the amulet as a ‘family heirloom’, and they refuse to let anyone else use it.”

Percy patted her arm. “Yes,” he said, “though that was over a hundred years ago. It’s tradition now, and they’re not going to give it up.”

Lincoln didn’t care for a history lesson. “So, who’s going to wipe memories after Gaston loses the amulet?”

“That’s what I want to discuss with you,” Percy said. “No one else in the Northwest family is young enough to wield the amulet. We’ll have no amulet holder until Gaston’s oldest child turns eight.”

“It’s caused problems in the past,” Ellie said. “Gaston had to wipe about a decade’s worth of memories when he turned eight. It took weeks.”

Percy nodded. “Having no amulet holder used to leave us helpless. This time, though, we may have a solution.” He finished his last bite of food. “Delicious as always, Lincoln. Let’s clean up and go to my office, shall we? I have something to show you.”

The threesome took their dishes to the nearby kitchen and rinsed them off. Then Ellie left, and Lincoln and Percy went to Percy’s office. “What do you have to show me?” Lincoln asked.

“This.” Percy reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a strange-looking gun.

Lincoln frowned at it. “And that is. . . ?”

“We found this gun when we found you,” Percy said, “five years ago. We did some tests, and. . . it’s a memory eraser.”

Lee’s gaze snapped up to Percy’s face. “You mean—”

“It’s likely what caused your amnesia, yes.”

Lincoln stared at the gun. Even though his deal with Bill helped him cope with his amnesia, it didn’t stop the rush of anger that swept through him. “Who shot me, then?” he demanded. “And why did you wait until now to show me?”

“I don’t know the answer to that first question,” Percy said. “As for the second, I suppose it may seem that I kept this a secret from you. I’m sorry. It didn’t seem relevant until now, and. . . well, if I’d showed you in your first year with us, it would’ve turned out badly.”

That quieted Lincoln. It was true: His first year here had been a dark time.

“Do you have any ideas?” he finally said. “About who it might’ve been?”

Percy shrugged. “For all we know, you could’ve shot yourself.”

“ _What?_ Why would I give myself amnesia?”

Percy held up his hands. “It’s simply a possibility. We found you alone with the gun; so, as far as suspects go, you’re the only option.”

“I wouldn’t have done this to myself,” Lincoln said firmly.

“I believe you,” Percy said, “and I know it was a rough transition. But it’s better now, isn’t it?”

Lee hesitated, then nodded. “Lord Cipher is merciful,” he said. “But. . . I still feel useless, sometimes.”

It was a feeling he’d expressed to Percy before. It was hard to be a part of an organization when you didn’t participate in its most common activity.

“Well,” said Percy, “that subject is partly why I’m showing you this memory gun. I have a business trip coming up, and I’ll be gone through Gaston’s birthday. I would reschedule or cancel the trip, but Lord Cipher pointed out to me that this is actually a good opportunity.”

“For what?”

“For you to do more for Lord Cipher’s cause,” Percy replied. “You see, it could be years before Gaston’s first child is even born, and then we’ll have to wait until he or she turns eight. Until that time, we are going to use the memory gun in place of the amulet.”

Lincoln started. “What?”

“Not for total amnesia, of course,” Percy said. “The gun is customizable. For example, if someone runs into the fairies, we’ll simply type in ‘fairies’, and they’ll forget them. It’s simple, really.”

Lee gave the gun a wary glance. “You say you’ve tested it?”

Percy nodded. “It’s safe.”

Lincoln was quiet. If the gun had an input, then what did his attacker type in to erase Lee’s entire identity? The word ‘everything’?

“So,” Percy continued, “we’ll use the gun. And, while I’m away on my trip, I want you to wield it.”

His statement was met with a short silence. “Me?” Lincoln finally said. “You want me to shoot people with the same gun that erased my past?”

“I am hopeful that your deal with Lord Cipher, in relation to your memory, will make it possible,” Percy said. “Without adverse mental effects for you, I mean.”

“I. . . I don’t know.” Lee did feel better about his missing memory — and he _did_ want to do more to help Lord Cipher — but he couldn’t imagine ever touching that gun, much less using it against another person.

“That’s all right,” Percy said. “I’m not leaving for another three weeks; you can think about it until then. Lord Cipher said to expect him in your dreams to discuss it further.”

“When you get back from your trip, will you take over?”

Percy shrugged lightly. “To be frank, it would be far more convenient for me to delegate the memory gun to someone who lives here, as you do. My trip will be a test run: If you really can’t do it, or if you don’t want to keep the assignment once I get back, then we can work something out. For now, you just need to decide whether or not to take over the memory sessions while I’m away.”

Lincoln nodded silently.

Percy stood. “Take some time,” he said. “Consult with Cipher. You can come see the memory sessions as they are right now to get a feel for it. I’ll give you some instructions as we get closer to my trip, and you can accept the assignment or not.” He gave Lincoln a kind smile. “I hope you will, though.”

The weeks passed. Lincoln thought over the assignment, and he was unsure what he would do. He had never been entirely comfortable with the memory wiping part of the Order, even though it was a large part. Usually, he just spent his time in the library, researching Bill’s imprisonment and future escape. (When he’d first arrived here, he’d had no patience for reading or research; but, after some years with little variety in his entertainment, he’d learned to enjoy it.) Now, he was given an opportunity — a potential assignment — to become so involved with the memory wiping that he would be in charge of it. Could he do it? Could he live with himself, knowing that he’d taken someone’s memory, even if they didn’t end up with total amnesia like he did?

Could he so much as hold the memory gun in his hands without panicking?

Lord Cipher spoke with Lee in his dreams and encouraged him to try. “ **But** ,” he added, “if you **really** don’t feel good about it, then I have a **backup plan**. I can use the gun **for** you.”

Lincoln didn’t know what that meant, exactly, though he was glad that Cipher had a plan. Yet. . . he wanted to do this himself. He wanted to prove to Lord Cipher that he could contribute to his cause in a greater capacity than reading archaic texts. Even as he thought about the memory gun — even as he worried about his mental state if he were to use it — he found that he wanted to fulfill this assignment.

If Cipher could help Lincoln so much after his memory loss, then surely Lincoln could help Cipher in return.

It took him most of the three weeks to come to this conclusion. The night before Percy was to leave, Lincoln finally decided to accept the assignment. With this resolution, he walked through the halls to Percy’s office. Besides, he reasoned with himself, it wasn’t as if he had to use the memory gun right away. He had almost two weeks before Gaston’s birthday and the loss of the amulet.

He heard a voice, and he turned a corner to see Percy talking quietly with Gaston. Lincoln couldn’t see Percy’s face, but he could hear the gentle cadence of his voice as he spoke. Gaston, for his part, had more emotion of his face than Lincoln usually saw: His eyes were wide and stony; his lips were pressed firmly together.

Percy heard Lincoln’s footsteps and, without turning, held up a hand. “We won’t worry about the memory sessions anymore today,” he said to Gaston. “You can head home. I’m sorry, Gaston.”

With a stiff nod, Gaston broke away from Percy and left.

“What’s going on?” Lincoln asked, glancing at Gaston’s rigid face as he passed.

“Gabriel’s dead,” Percy said softly. “I just found out.”

His statement was met by a stunned silence. “What happened?” Lincoln finally asked.

“A car collision,” Percy answered, “while he was in California.”

Lincoln looked in the direction that Gaston had gone. “And you told Gaston?” Even for the boy’s taciturn nature, Lincoln would’ve expected more of a reaction from him.

“Yes. He’ll need time to. . . to process the news. I don’t believe he’ll be in any state to do memory sessions for us, even before he loses the amulet.” Percy met Lincoln’s eyes. “We’re out of time, I’m afraid. Have you decided whether or not you’ll accept Cipher’s assignment?”

Lincoln nodded. “I’ll do it,” he said.

Percy smiled and took his arm. “Thank you, Lincoln,” he said. “I’ll handle the rest of the memory sessions today, and we’ll need an official mourning period for Gabriel. We’ll put the memory sessions on hold, except for emergencies, and we’ll start again after the funeral — whenever that may be.”

So Lincoln _would_ have some time to prepare. That made him feel better. “Will I be able to go to the funeral?” he said.

Percy hesitated. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t know who Gaston will invite. You can talk with Cipher, but I think he’ll ask you to stay here. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Lincoln said. He didn’t know Gabriel very well, but the man had been generous to him — it only felt right to honor him at his funeral. Still, Lincoln was well aware that he was supposed to stay hidden from the majority of people. If he had to miss Gabriel’s funeral because of that, then that’s what he would do.

“Well, I have to finish packing,” Percy said, “and then I’ll leave in the morning. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Percy smiled. “Good. Ellie will handle administrative things while I’m gone, so you can go to her with questions. And, of course, there’s Lord Cipher.”

“And the instructions you’ve already given me,” Lincoln pointed out. “You don’t have to worry, Percy.” As he said it, he hoped it would be true. Lincoln knew what to do — the question was whether he’d be strong enough to do it.

But he would at least try.

Percy seemed reassured. “You’re right,” he said. He stepped forward and gave Lincoln a brief hug. “I’ll see you in about a month.”

Lincoln nodded. “I’ll be here.”

Percy laughed quietly at the joke — of course Lincoln would be here — and walked away. At the end of the corridor, he turned and waved.

Lincoln waved back.

Percy disappeared around the corner, and Lincoln was left alone. For the next month, he would be in charge of the memory sessions.

But, he decided, it would be fine. He could do it.

And, on the chance that he couldn’t, Lord Cipher would be there to help.

~~~~~

Gaston Northwest stepped up to the open casket and gazed down at his father’s face.

He could feel the eyes on his back of his head as he did so, but he did his best to ignore them. The room was filled with apathetic businessmen who, under the guise of paying respects to the late Gabriel Northwest, had really come to the funeral viewing to squeeze in a good word with the new face of the Northwest company.

That new face was Gaston. Seventeen years old, and he found himself in charge of a large corporation. With Gabriel’s death, all of the man’s responsibilities had crashed down on Gaston’s shoulders. The youth bore them, because he knew he had to; but at his core, he was afraid. What if they found out that he was not yet eighteen and took the company away from him? Gaston was afraid of taking charge, but he was more afraid of losing the Northwest legacy. He had to pretend he was eighteen for now, even though his birthday wasn’t for another week.

That wouldn’t be too hard, right?

His fiancée, Geneva Beaumont, stood beside him. She was already eighteen; next week, when Gaston became a legal adult, they would marry. Gaston awaited the marriage with gladness, though he was a bit worried about the wedding ceremony. What would traditionally be a large Northwest celebration, hosted by Gabriel, now had to be a small, quiet affair. None of Geneva’s relatives would come, because the wedding was a symbol of Geneva leaving the Beaumont family to join with the Northwests. None of Gaston’s relatives would come, either — because, as far as he knew, Gaston was the only one left in his bloodline.

That was frightening. But it was no matter, he told himself. He and Geneva would continue the family line. Within a year, she would bear him a child. A son. And Gaston would raise him in the Northwest tradition.

A slight ache, courtesy of said Northwest tradition, throbbed in Gaston’s forearm. Geneva’s hands were wrapped around his arm; and where her fingers pressed into his suit sleeve, Gaston’s old scars protested in pain.

He ignored them. Like he always did.

Looking into the casket, he held his father’s sightless gaze and shuddered inwardly at the emptiness on Gabriel’s usually shrewd face. The death had been so sudden, and Gaston still had trouble processing it. One moment, he was browsing the memories of a townsperson and wiping the unwanted scenes; the next, Percy pulled him aside and told him the awful news: On the way home from a business trip, Gabriel’s limousine was broadsided by a large truck. The first responders were lucky even to pull the man’s broken body from the car.

Gaston’s mother had passed away years earlier; now, with his father’s untimely death, Gaston had no parents. No father to help him run the family business. No mother to comfort him after one of his father’s tirades.

He took a sharp breath as longing for his parents filled him. Geneva squeezed his arm in a comforting gesture, but it only served to increase Gaston’s discomfort in his scars. The renewed pain brought Gaston back into focus, and his father’s voice floated through his mind: “I give you these scars, Gaston, so that you can be strong. So that you can make me proud.”

Gaston let out his breath and, for the first time since approaching the casket, spoke aloud. “I’ll make you proud, Father,” he told the corpse in front of him.

His arm cried out as Geneva gave it another comforting squeeze. He didn’t react to the pain; instead, he reached across with his free hand and placed it on Geneva’s. “Father, I’m here with Geneva Beaumont,” he said. “The girl you picked for me. We’ll be married in a week.” He shot his bride-to-be a quick smile. “She’s beautiful.”

He looked back to Gabriel, but the corpse did not respond.

“I’m going to carry on your legacy,” Gaston continued. “Everything is happening so fast, but I know you want me to be strong. I’ll run the business; I’ll support Percy; I’ll give you a grandson. I’ll teach him to be strong, the way you taught me.”

Then he took a deep breath. “Farewell, Father,” he said. “Thank you.”

With these brief words, Gaston turned away from his father for the last time. He kept his hand on Geneva’s, leading her away from the casket. Now he had to speak with everyone else at the viewing. Now he had to represent something larger than himself: the company that his father had left for him. He walked towards the congregated businessmen and kept his face neutral as he joined their conversations.

Never once did he acknowledge the screaming from his scars.

~~~~~

“I can’t do this,” Lincoln whispered.

It was the night of Gabriel’s funeral service. The viewing had been last night, and tonight was the actual burial. Lincoln would attend neither event.

The Order headquarters were empty save him, since the other Order members were at the funeral service. Lincoln was used to the silence, though tonight it almost felt oppressive. His eyes were locked on the memory gun, which sat on Percy’s desk in front of him.

“I can’t do this,” he repeated.

The memory sessions would start again tomorrow. There was already someone who needed his memory wiped: a teenager named Danny Valentino. He was being quite vocal about his recent encounter with a peryton. The Order members would have to bring him in.

But Lincoln couldn’t wipe Danny’s memory. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull the trigger when he pointed the gun at the wall, so how could he pull it when pointing the gun at someone’s head?

The Corduroys would bring Danny to the Order headquarters fairly early tomorrow morning. Lincoln only had so much time before he had to fulfill his assignment from Cipher and use the memory gun. He’d been so sure of himself last week, when he’d agreed to the assignment. Over the course of the week, he’d worried, but he’d told himself that it would be fine.

Now that the time was here. . . he saw through those self-deceptions. He knew that he couldn’t take someone’s memory. Even though he had mostly come to terms with this part of the Order, he still felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t explicitly remember it, but _he_ had been shot with this gun before. It had erased an entire life — one that Lincoln would never get back. While taking Danny Valentino’s memories of winged deer seemed like a small issue on the surface, it was ultimately the same result: Danny would never have those memories again.

Lincoln put a hand to his head. He knew what he had to do: ask Lord Cipher for his help. He left Percy’s office, taking the lantern with him and leaving the memory gun in the darkness. The lantern (the only one that he’d bothered lighting today, since no one would likely come down here) lit his path as he returned to his room. There, he returned the lantern to its original hook on the wall, got ready for bed, and blew out the light. He hoped he would fall asleep quickly.

It didn’t seem to be long before he was facing Bill Cipher.

“Are you **sure** you can’t do it?” was the first thing that the triangle said.

Lincoln glanced to him. “Do what?” he asked.

“You’re **dreaming** , **Blind Eye** ,” Bill told him.

Lincoln started a bit. “Oh. Thank you, Lord Cipher.” He gave a quick bow.

“Ah, **there** we go,” Bill said. “Welcome to lucidity. **Now** , tell me what’s going on with the **gun**.”

Lincoln hesitated. He was sure that Bill already knew what he was thinking, and he didn’t really know how to phrase it.

“ **Go on** ,” Bill encouraged.

“Well, I. . . I can’t do it,” Lincoln admitted. “I don’t think I can use the gun.”

Bill circled around him, looking thoughtful. “You don’t have any **memories** of the gun,” he said, “from **before** your amnesia. **Interesting** that it should still cause **this level** of anxiety.”

“I know what it did to me.”

“Well, you have Percy’s **theory** ,” Bill corrected, “and it is a **compelling** one. Regardless, I suppose that’s **enough** to cause this **hesitancy**. Did you want to know **more** about my **backup plan**?”

Lincoln looked away. “Yes. I. . . I’m sorry, Lord Cipher. I wanted to do this myself — I wanted to do more for you — but. . . I can’t. I’m too weak.”

Bill reached out and raised Lincoln’s chin. “Don’t **worry** , Blind Eye. I’m **here** to help. I **appreciate** that you wanted to do this on your own, but you don’t **have** to.”

Lincoln managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“Of **course** ,” Bill replied. “My idea is **simple** : I use the memory gun **for** you.”

Lincoln frowned in thought. “You said that the first time you told me about it, but I don’t know what it means. Aren’t you stuck in the mindscape?”

“Typically, **yes**. My **jailers** stripped me of my **physical form**. **But** , when I make certain **deals** with people, I can **temporarily** gain a **new** physical form.”

“How so?”

“By using **theirs**.”

Lincoln’s eyes widened. “You mean. . . possession?”

Bill shrugged. “ **Essentially**. You and I could make a **deal** where you let me **take over your body** for a short amount of time. Then **I** can use the memory gun on **Danny**. I’ll take over, use the gun, and then **leave**. In and out.”

“What happens to me?” Lincoln asked. He wasn’t sure if he was more surprised by the proposition or by the fact that he wasn’t automatically against it.

“You’ll basically be a **ghost** ,” Bill said. “See, your **body** and your **spirit** are two different parts of you: and together, they make up your **soul**. If you make this **deal** with me, then I’ll temporarily **separate** your spirit from your body. Once I leave, you **return** to your body, and your **soul** returns to one piece — **no harm done**.”

“It doesn’t. . . hurt?” It was a pitiful question, but he had to ask it.

“Not that **I’ve** heard,” Bill assured him. “Here’s the **best** part: It’ll still be **you** firing the gun, in a sense. **Half** of you, at least. I can **overcome** your **physical anxiety** and fire the gun **anyway**. **Theoretically** , that’ll make it **far easier** for you in the **future**. Since your hands have **already** shot the gun **once** , you’ll be able to do it **again**.”

“Theoretically?” Lee asked.

Another shrug. “I’m **guessing** , I’ll **admit** — but my guesses tend to be **right**.”

Lincoln was quiet, and Bill let him think. “It sounds like a bad idea,” Lee finally said.

“ **Why?** **Remember** , it’ll be **temporary**. It’ll probably take less than **five minutes**.”

True, it _would_ be short. Lincoln couldn’t really think of a good reason why it seemed like a bad idea, but it still unsettled him. “I want to help you,” he said slowly, “but maybe I could ask someone else to do it for now?”

As soon as the words left him, he knew they were cowardly. He immediately dropped to his knees and bowed and mumbled an apology — but Bill didn’t seem angry. “This **assignment** is meant to be **long-term** ,” the triangle said mildly. “If you **don’t** do it now, then I don’t know **when** you would.”

“Of course,” Lincoln said, head still lowered.

“You can **get up** , **Blind Eye** ,” Bill said. “You’re **fine**.”

Lincoln got to his feet, giving one last deferential nod. “Lord Cipher. . . ,” he asked, “why did you choose me for this assignment? Why not another Order member?”

“Oh, **come now** , Lincoln. You **know** why. Percy mentioned that it would be the most **efficient** way. **You** mentioned that you wished you could **do more** to help me. And, well, I want to **help you** be **stronger**. Those are **all** good reasons.”

Lincoln nodded. “I. . . I thank you for your help.”

Bill put out a hand. “And what about **tomorrow**? Do you want my help **then**?” Blue flame sprang to life on his fingertips.

This was Bill’s help. This was his offer. It seemed as if this deal would simultaneously relieve Lincoln of his duty tomorrow and help him perform that duty. The part about temporarily being a ghost was disconcerting, but Bill had said it wouldn’t do any damage. If Lincoln really wanted to do more for Bill’s cause, then it seemed that this was the way to do it.

“If you allow me to briefly **take over your body** tomorrow,” said Bill, “then I will perform the **memory session** in your **behalf**. What do you **say**?”

When he said it that way, it sounded merciful. And what else could Lord Cipher be?

Lincoln took Bill’s hand. “Deal,” he said.

The blue fire spread across Lincoln’s hand with a faint chill. The light mixed with Bill’s yellow glow, which shone through the stony grey patchwork on Bill’s body. As Lincoln watched, a few of the grey patches fell away — much like they had for Lee’s first deal, four years ago. Now, over half of Bill’s form glowed with his signature yellow light.

The blue fire disappeared, and Lincoln withdrew his hand. “When exactly will you take over?” he asked. He didn’t know exactly what would happen, but he didn’t want to be caught off guard.

Bill shrugged. “Let’s say around the time **Danny** comes to headquarters. You should **probably** find a place to **sit down** before I come — since a **body** without a **spirit** can’t **stand up** on its own. Once you find a place, we’ll **switch** , and I’ll go to the **memory session**.”

“Will I be able to see?”

Bill nodded. “I want you to **watch**. **That way** , your **body** learns that it’s all right to use the memory gun, and your **spirit** sees it happen.”

The thought of watching himself from the outside was a strange one indeed. Lincoln nodded slowly. “And you say it’ll be fine. I’ll be able to. . . to return to my body afterward?”

“ **Absolutely**. It’ll go **smoothly**.” Bill rose higher in the air. “ **Until tomorrow, Blind Eye** ,” he said.

With a flash of yellow light, he disappeared. 

~~~~~

Not having a body was uncomfortable.

Lincoln floated beside his body, which now had slitted yellow eyes: Bill Cipher’s eyes. Getting pulled from his body had been the worst sensation of Lincoln’s life, and now he still felt dizzy and sick — insofar as a spirit can feel dizzy and sick, that is. He had only just left it, but he already longed to return to his body.

“Oh, that feels **good** ,” Bill said, stretching his arms — Lincoln’s arms — above his head. Then he shook the purple sleeves of Lincoln’s robes back down his arms and glanced to Lincoln’s spirit. “I **know** it’s uncomfortable,” he said apologetically. “It’s what **I** live with most days. It’ll be **over** soon.”

Bill pulled the purple hood over his head and walked down the hall, gesturing for Lincoln for follow. Lincoln didn’t know how his spirit could move, but he drifted alongside Bill with little effort.

Soon, he could hear people coming. “This place is sick,” a young voice said.

Bill and Lincoln reached the door to the memory room just as the Corduroys and Danny Valentino did. Danny, a larger boy with a bright red afro, looked more interested than frightened as he craned his neck to look around the firelit tunnels. Beside him stood Gregory Corduroy, who was Danny’s same age; behind them were Gregory’s parents.

“Woah, who’s this dude?” Danny said as he caught sight of Bill — or, Lincoln’s body. Bill had shrouded Lincoln’s face in the hood of his purple robe, and Danny tried to get a closer look.

Greg pulled him back before he could get too close. “That’s Lincoln,” he said. “Here, Dan, come in here.” He led Danny into the memory room, and Bill and Lincoln followed them.

“What’s going on?” Now Danny seemed a little hesitant. “This guy is psyching me out.”

“S’all good,” Greg assured him. “Just sit down there.” He gestured to the single chair in the middle of the room.

With a wary glance in Lincoln’s direction, Danny sat down.

Bill faced Danny, and Greg moved out of the way. The memory gun appeared in Bill’s hand, where it had been concealed in his robes, and he raised it. “Woah, woah, what’s that?” Danny jumped to his feet, but Greg hurried over and pushed him back down. Lincoln watched as Bill typed “peryton” into the memory gun and pointed it at Danny.

“Let go of me!” Danny struggled against his friend. “Greg, what are you doing?”

“It’s okay,” Greg promised. “It’ll be over in a sec.”

Lincoln glanced between Bill and the teenage boys. Could Bill fire the gun with Greg so close to Danny? Would the blast catch both boys?

Bill didn’t seem concerned about this. He fired the gun straight at Danny, and Greg ducked out of the way.

A bright beam of light erupted from the gun and hit Danny’s temple. The boy slumped over, unconscious, and Greg caught him before he could slide from the chair entirely. Lincoln waited for the anxiety, the horror — but they didn’t come. He had no racing heart, no sweaty palms, no upset stomach. He felt bad about Danny’s fear, but he knew that the boy wouldn’t remember this experience at all. In the end, everything was fine.

Just as Bill said it would be. Lincoln’s first memory session was over, and it had gone just as smoothly as Bill had promised.

Bill opened the door, and the Corduroys came in to help Greg carry Danny. “How did it go?” Greg’s dad asked him.

“He got freaked out,” Greg said. “But he won’t remember that, right?”

The boy’s mother shook her head. “He won’t remember anything about the Order.” She glanced at Bill. “Right? The memory gun isn’t that different from the amulet.”

“ **Right** ,” Bill said, pushing his hood back. “The gun takes whatever we type in, **plus** the past five minutes of memory — **more or less**.”

The Corduroys didn’t react at all to Bill’s yellow eyes or his multi-layered voice. They nodded at this explanation, then carried Danny from the room. Lincoln watched them go, confused. Could they not see that his body was inhabited by Bill?

“ **So** ,” Bill said when the Corduroys were gone, “what do you **think**?”

Lincoln turned to him. “That went well,” he said slowly. “We didn’t even have to strap him down.” He’d gone to some of Gaston’s memory sessions, and usually people were bound to the chair by straps around their wrists.

Bill shrugged. “Greg **forgot** , I think,” he said, “but I **agree** : It went **well**.” He inclined his head to Lincoln. “Think you can do it **next** time? Danny’s **parents** might be coming down here soon, **too** , depending on how much they **believed** his stories about the **perytons**.”

Lincoln thought about this. Then he nodded. “I think I could do it,” he said. “At the very least, I’d rather do it myself than. . . than have you possess me.”

“ **Uncomfortable** , isn’t it?” Bill agreed. “Well, I don’t **have** to possess you, if you can use the **memory gun** by yourself. If you ever need my help again, though, I’d be willing to **take over** again.”

Hopefully that wouldn’t happen. If Lincoln’s two choices were to use the memory gun or to watch as a spirit while Bill used it, then he would definitely take the first option. “And I’ll be less anxious about it next time? Since you did it for me this time?”

“ **Hopefully** ,” Bill said. He sat down on the ground and leaned against the stone wall. “ **Well** , I’ll **leave you** now.”

Lincoln bowed in the air. “Thank you, Lord Cipher. Thank you for helping me with this assignment.”

“You’re **welcome** ,” Bill said. “ **Good luck** with the other **memory sessions**. I’ll show up in your **dreams** to see how you’re doing.”

He waved, then closed his yellow eyes. Lincoln’s body went slack.

Lincoln flew into his body as Bill, in his triangular form, exited. There was a moment of dizziness as Lincoln’s spirit fused again with his body, and then it was over. Lincoln was back in his body, and it was just as Bill had promised: There was no harm done.

Lincoln let out a breath and leaned back against the rough stone wall. That was. . . that was something. He’d never realized how much he’d appreciated his body until he’d momentarily lost it. But it was all right. He was back. He once again had a body with his spirit.

He was once again a soul.

Lincoln got to his feet, picked up the memory gun, and ran his hands over it. It didn’t seem so scary now. He was pretty sure that he could do this — at least until Percy got back. And, when Percy _did_ get back, maybe Lincoln would be so used to it that he wouldn’t want to give it up.

A faint, satisfied smile appeared on Lincoln’s face, and he left the room.


	12. Chapter 12

**WINTER 2013**

“Good night, Grunkle Ford.” Mabel leaned forward to hug her uncle as he sat on the couch. Ford and Lee had been deep in discussion, but they’d paused to say good night to her and Dipper.

“Good night.” Ford hugged her, then moved so that he was looking her in the eye. “You were very brave today.”

It took a moment for her to realize what he was talking about. Then she remembered: the portal. He must be talking about her opening the portal. To her perspective, that had only been eight hours ago; yet it felt like a lifetime had passed. It didn’t help that she’d lost three hours to the time bubble, either.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “But. . . but it didn’t do anything. I mean, it did — but it _helped_ Bill, and I don’t—”

“You did what we all thought was necessary,” Ford said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but having all ten Symbols gives us a better chance of beating Bill than if we had nine. So you _did_ help us.”

“I guess.” Mabel glanced at Lee. She couldn’t help but wonder the same thing Gideon had asked earlier: _Did_ they have a chance?

Lee caught the glance. “Good night, Mabel,” he said gently.

“Um, good night,” she replied. She wanted to give him a hug, too, but she hesitated.

Uncle and niece locked gazes for a moment, and something in Lee’s eyes broke Mabel’s defenses. With a sudden, shaky breath, she threw her arms around him. Climbing onto the couch between him and Ford, she buried her face in Lee’s shoulder. He returned the hug and held her close.

Part of Mabel was terrified that Bill would take over at any moment and hurt her, and a small voice in her mind screamed that she had to get away. But it wasn’t a loud enough voice, and she instead clung tighter to her uncle. Tears that she hadn’t expected spurted from her eyes, and she found it impossible to breathe steadily.

Lee was silent as Mabel cried beside him. It wasn’t the first time she’d cried today, and she understood why. The day that had started in the midst of the terrifying gravitational anomalies now ended with an uncle in a situation that was nothing like she’d expected. She cried for him as much as herself.

But her tears were born from positive emotions as well as negative ones — namely a relief that she was finally with her uncle. “We found you,” she said into Lee’s shirt. “We found you. I thought. . . I thought we’d never find you.”

“You found me,” Lee said softly. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay, not entirely — not with Bill’s power over Lee — but it was better. That in itself was relieving.

When Mabel moved away from Lee and wiped at her eyes, Gideon and Melody came down the stairs. “The air mattress is ready,” said Melody. “Gideon’s going to need some of your pajamas, I think, Dipper.”

“Okay.” Dipper (who had already hugged his grunkles good night) helped Mabel up from the couch. The twins joined Gideon on the stairs.

“Stanford,” said Gideon, “thank you. For giving me a place to stay, and. . . for defending me, earlier.”

Ford nodded and gave him a small smile. “It was the least I could do after you helped me find my brother.”

“Is there anything we can do?” asked Lee. “To help you tonight?”

Gideon looked away. “Well. . . like he said. Don’t wake me up. Just. . . just let it run its course.”

Lee watched Gideon silently until the boy looked up. “Thank you, Gideon. For everything.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but no words came out.

Gideon nodded. “Well. . . good night.”

He went up the stairs, and Mabel and Dipper followed him. “Dipper,” said Gideon when they got to the attic, “do you have any long-sleeved pajama shirts?”

Dipper frowned at the oddly specific question. “Um, I think so. Let me check.” He disappeared into the twins’ room.

Mabel and Gideon were left alone in the attic, and Mabel found herself looking anywhere but at Gideon. The attic area outside the twins’ room was small, with dusty floorboards and a low ceiling. The air mattress, fitted with sheets and blankets, sat off to the side. Knowing what she did about Bill’s nightmares, Mabel thought the makeshift bed looked more like a prison than anything.

“Are you going to be able to fall asleep?” Mabel finally asked. She wasn’t sure if _she_ would be able to sleep, and she wasn’t the one with the promised nightmares.

Gideon let out a long breath. “I’m exhausted,” he admitted. “I think I’ll fall asleep okay, but. . . well, who knows about _staying_ asleep.”

With this statement, another silence fell over the attic.

Then, “This is why, isn’t it?” Mabel blurted. “You didn’t tell us until now because. . . because _this_ would happen.”

Gideon nodded slowly. “Honestly, this is better than I could have hoped for,” he said. A small smile forced its way through the solemnity on his face. “I get to stay here, first off. With you.”

True, but — but it still wasn’t fair. Mabel said as much, and Gideon gave a humorless laugh. “Bill made a promise. Or a threat, whichever term you want to use. I think he sees it as perfectly fair that he gets to follow through with it.”

“He shouldn’t have tried to force you to keep the secret in the first place!”

“Maybe not.” Gideon sighed. “I’ll just. . . well, I’ll get through it. Like I always do. It’s really my only option.”

Mabel wanted to ask if he had experience with nightmarish punishment from Bill; but at that moment, Dipper emerged from the twins’ room. “Found ‘em. I never wear these, but my parents made me bring them.” He held up dark blue flannel pajamas. “They might be a little small.”

“They’ll work, I think,” said Gideon. Dipper handed him the pajamas. “Thanks.”

Dipper nodded. “Good luck tonight, I guess.”

Gideon looked between the twins. “You can’t wake me up, okay? No matter what. I. . . I have no idea if I’ll make noise or thrash or whatever, but you can’t wake me up.”

That was possibly the cruelest part of all this, Mabel thought. When she had bad nightmares, she was often woken by Dipper or her parents, and they helped her calm down. If no one was allowed to wake Gideon, then he’d have no respite from his dreams unless he woke up by himself. And what about the twins? If Gideon cried out in his sleep, then they’d just have to listen. Mabel felt helpless.

“Can you promise me?” Gideon said.

Dipper didn’t look at all happy about it, but he said, “Okay. I won’t wake you up.”

“Mabel?” Gideon asked softly.

Mabel thought it was a terrible promise to make. But she nodded. “I. . . I wish. . .”

But there was no way to end that sentence that didn’t match what the three of them were already thinking.

“I guess I’m going to bed,” Dipper said. “Mabel?”

“Um, yeah, in a minute,” she said.

“Okay.” Dipper went back into the twins’ room.

Mabel glanced at Gideon. “You made it sound like. . . like Bill has done this to you before.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Not this blatantly, but I get some nightmares from him. Like I said, I just get through them.”

How? she wanted to ask. She’d had nightmares that were at least influenced by Bill, and they were terrible. How did Gideon deal with it?

“Can I show you something?” Gideon said.

“S-sure.”

He led her over to the air mattress. On the floor beside it were his black coat and white cape, folded neatly, and the first Journal, which he picked up. “I found it,” he said. “I was looking for something specific in the first Journal, and I found it.” He sat on the side of the air mattress and gestured for her to join him.

“That’s. . . that’s great.” Mabel sat beside him, with a couple inches separating them.

He set the first Journal on his lap. “The second Journal has a footnote,” he said. “It references something in the first Journal called ‘the Northwest’s Relief,’ but it doesn’t give any detail. It just says to see the first Journal for information.”

That sounded familiar. Mabel stared at Gideon as she tried to remember. “Wait. . . weren’t you looking for it? With the fairies?”

Gideon started. “How did you know that?”

It felt like so long ago, but the memory came back to her. “On the day that we found the third Journal,” Mabel said, “Dipper and I overheard you talking with a fairy about the Northwest’s Relief. It was the first time we saw you.”

Gideon blinked. “I had no idea,” he said. “But, yes, I asked the fairies to help me find it. The footnote in the second Journal was in a section about magical foliage, so I assumed it was a plant. And I was right.” He opened the first Journal and flipped through the pages.

As he found his page, Mabel thought of something. “If you were looking for the first Journal, then why did you take mine? I m-mean, the third one?”

Gideon paused. “I thought it was the first,” he said. “I didn’t know there were three. And. . . I didn’t find any more information about the Northwest’s Relief in the third one when I looked, either.”

Mabel nodded, and she was glad to find that she no longer felt instinctual anger when talking about the day that Gideon had taken her Journal.

He found the page he was looking for. “Here,” he said. “This is what I’ve been looking for.” He turned it so Mabel could see.

_ The Northwest’s Relief _

_I’ve said before that I’m making new and wonderful discoveries every day. Well, today was no exception! While F was consulting with the construction company, I went out to explore. I saw dozens of mythical creatures, though I didn’t get a good look at any of them before they scampered/flew/slithered/melted away (will look further into the melting). Growing rather frustrated with this elusive behavior, I kept walking, until I stepped onto a patch of ground that proceeded to give way entirely! I tumbled into darkness and slid down a slope of dirt until I landed in a heap on solid ground. As I got my bearings, I quickly discovered that I was in an underground cavern, and the only source of light (save the faint sunlight from above) came from a field of glowing flowers. That’s right! These flowers, green in stem and blue in petal, gave off a distinct purple-blue glow. They were beautiful, and I knelt down to get a closer look. When I did, I saw a small stone plaque, hidden among the flowers. So someone had been here, had they? I looked closer, thinking the sign was in some foreign tongue, but discovered English words etched into the stone. “The Northwest’s Relief,” it read._

_This was all the more baffling. Was this the name for these flowers? Why that name? Did these flowers have more special properties than their glow? How did they relieve anything?_

_Upon further inspection, I found a brightly colored gel oozing from the petals of the flower. Curiosity seized me, and I touched the nearest flower with my bare hand. (I now realize that this was a foolish act; but with a name like “Relief,” I wasn’t expecting any harm.) I rubbed my fingers together, feeling the oily substance. Then, something remarkable happened. The gel dripped onto my palm, where I had lacerated the skin earlier that day in my adventures. It wasn’t a serious cut: What little pain I had, I could easily ignore. When the gel touched the cut, however, all discomfort instantly ceased. A cool sensation spread across my hand, and — even more marvelous — the cut disappeared. My injury was gone, like it had never happened!_

_I was fascinated. I sat down and tugged off my boot, pulling up my pant leg until I revealed an old scar on my ankle. If the gel could heal new wounds, would it also heal old ones? I rubbed some on the scar. Sure enough, it disappeared! Not only that, but the same feeling from earlier appeared in my ankle. I haven’t felt pain in that scar for decades, yet the gel still provided a soothing salve. True to the name, it was a relieving sensation._

_I picked a few of the flowers for further study, but they shriveled up in my hands. I wished I had brought a bottle or a vial or something with which to capture the gel and take it back to my lab. But, alas, I had not. I was forced to climb out of the cavern with no samples in hand. I did my best to memorize the location of the secret tunnel, though I’m afraid the details are already slipping my mind, and the following map may not be of much use. I do hope to return to the cavern someday. Imagine the use in medicine that this magical gel could have!_

_As amazing as this discovery is, it is surrounded by many unanswered questions. Who was the first to find this cavern? Who labelled it “The Northwest’s Relief”? I understand the Relief part, but why the Northwests? I was unaware that the Northwests ever visited the forest (or ever left their mansion, for that matter)._

_Note: It has been a week since the discovery of the Northwest’s Relief. All attempts to contact the Northwests and ask them about this cavern have been rebuffed. Either they jealously guard this secret, or they simply don’t like visitors._

Mabel looked up from the Journal and stared at Gideon. “What. . . what does that mean?” She had a vague idea, but she didn’t think she liked it.

Gideon didn’t answer at first. “You know those old salesmen,” he finally said, “who would sell bottles of dirty water and tell their customers that it could cure anything?”

“I guess.” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“That’s what this feels like. It’s like someone’s giving me something so simple and telling me that it’ll fix everything.”

“Because. . . because it’ll take the pain away?”

He glanced at her and gave a small nod. “If I had this. . . then it wouldn’t matter what my father did to me.”

Mabel didn’t know what Gaston did to Gideon, not specifically, and she had no desire to know. “But. . . but you’re okay now,” she said. “Right? He can’t hurt you here.”

The look he gave her was unreadable. “Right,” he said. “But. . . it would still be amazing.” He sighed. “If I had my amulet, I could just go grab it and come back, no problem.”

“Why don’t you have your amulet?” Mabel asked.

“My father has it locked up,” he answered. “After I ran away to. . . to save you from Pacifica, the amulet got taken away. Otherwise I could’ve gotten here a lot earlier to tell you about Lincoln.” He glanced sideways. “I tried to come a couple days ago, actually. But I got caught.”

If Mabel still held any anger about Gideon hiding Lincoln from her, it melted away. “Gideon, I. . .”

“I know. I should’ve told you that day at my Manor. I wish I had. But. . .”

“You still told me. Us. That’s what matters.” Mabel glanced away. “And Bill is still going to terrorize you for it.”

“Yeah.” He managed a smile. “I don’t regret it.”

Mabel returned the smile, then reached out and gave him a hug. “Thank you.”

He hugged her back. She thought she felt a bit of desperation in the way he held her, but he soon pulled away. “Good night,” he said.

She stood up. “Good night. I. . . I’ll see you in the morning.”

He nodded. “No matter what happens in my dreams, I’ll still be here in the morning.” He sounded like he was saying it more to himself than to her.

Mabel went to the door of her room, then paused to give Gideon a little wave. He returned it with a smile.

Mabel entered her room, thinking him insanely brave for smiling when he knew the types of dreams he’d have tonight.

The light was off; for once, Dipper seemed to be in bed before she was. Mabel crept to her bed and got in.

A minute later, she felt something bump against the side of her bed, accompanied with a snorting sound. She sat up and helped Waddles onto her bed. “Hey, piggy,” she whispered.

Waddles moved onto her lap, and she held him close. Perhaps too close — but she needed something to squeeze right now, and Waddles didn’t seem to mind. She once again felt tears on her face; the pig tried to lick them off, which made her laugh quietly.

“Do you forgive him?” asked Dipper’s voice in the darkness.

Mabel jumped a bit — she thought he was asleep. Then she calmed down and thought about his question. It was referring to a conversation earlier in the day, when she had been ranting to Dipper about Gideon and how he had come too late to tell them about Stanley. Dipper, who had originally been just as angry as she, had eventually calmed down enough to point out that Gideon still came, and that they’d have no chance without him.

“Mabel?” Dipper asked when she didn’t respond for a while.

“Yeah,” she said. “I forgive him. He. . . he risked a lot for us.”

Waddles started to squirm in her arms, so she gave the pig one last squeeze before setting him on the floor. She heard a rustling sound as Waddles joined Dipper in his bed.

“Good night, Dipper,” she said.

“G’night, Mabel.”

Mabel lay back against her pillow. Everything that had happened that day — everything she’d experienced — everything she’d learned about the time bubble and about Stanley and about Gideon — it all swirled around her head. She couldn’t separate anything from the confusing mass of emotions, and she certainly couldn’t process it all tonight. Her exhaustion wouldn’t let her.

So, instead, she fell asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: This chapter contains semi-graphic descriptions of child abuse and its effects.

Gideon could have changed into Dipper’s pajamas in the attic, but he went back down to the bathroom.

Stanford and Lincoln sat on the couch, talking about their parents and a brother named Shermie. Gideon nodded to them as he came down the stairs. He didn’t stop to talk to them.

The first Journal entry ran through his mind as he walked down the hallway. A field of glowing flowers. When the gel touched an injury, all discomfort ceased. It was like the injury had never happened.

Gideon’s scars flared in pain, as if crying out for some relief of their own. Mabel’s earlier hug had increased the pain a bit, though the scars were already hurting plenty. They had been all day. Gideon was able to focus despite them — indeed, the harrying events of the day made them easy to ignore by comparison — but reading the entry on the Northwest’s Relief brought the pain back to the surface. Almost as if the pain itself were begging him to end its existence with this magical flower.

He passed by Ford’s room and heard no sound from within, though he knew Melody was in there with Fiddleford. He continued to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

The solitude in the bathroom felt relieving and oppressive at the same time. He’d been alone for hours behind that vending machine, and it had been awful waiting for his father to catch up with him. Then he’d spent time with the Pines, doing _real_ family things, and it had been wonderful. Yet he still kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. And drop it would: It was just waiting for him to go to sleep. Gideon dreaded his dreams tonight, but he found himself less anxious than he thought he would be. Perhaps because he already knew that the nightmares would be terrible — so he didn’t have to wonder about it.

With a deep breath, Gideon pulled off his sweater vest and started unbuttoning his shirt. Dipper’s flannel pajamas rested on the counter, and Gideon hoped they would fit well enough to cover him. The last of the buttons came undone, and Gideon put his shirt and vest on the counter beside the pajamas. He kept his eyes averted for most of the process, and he closed them afterwards.

Then, with some effort, he raised his head, opened his eyes, and looked at himself in the mirror.

Red, pink, and white scars covered almost every available inch of uncovered skin. No scar went above his collar bone or past his wrists, but his chest and arms were a graveyard of past injuries. He didn’t turn to look at his back, but he knew all too well that there were scars there, too. Looking at the scars somehow made them hurt more, so Gideon rarely did it. Usually, he changed clothes quickly with his eyes averted. Sometimes, though, he would do what he did tonight: take off his shirt and simply look at himself in the mirror.

He brushed the scars on his left arm with his right fingers. Was the Northwest’s Relief really out there? Could it really make the scars stop hurting? Could it make them _disappear_?

As much as he hated his scars, Gideon felt surprisingly anxious at the thought of living without them. They were a part of him. A hated part, but. . . still there. He’d wished them gone countless times throughout his life. If he had a chance to find the Northwest’s Relief, he would use it. Yet. . . the thought was still strange.

Mabel hadn’t understood. He wasn’t sure that he wanted her to understand. She’d looked at the Journal entry about the Northwest’s Relief and assumed that it would simply help him with the pain directly after a session of punishment from Gaston’s servants. She didn’t seem to consider the aftereffects. She didn’t seem to imagine that Gideon would have scars.

Gideon was simultaneously relieved and disappointed by this. On the one hand, if he told Mabel that her hugs caused him physical pain, then she’d probably stop touching him altogether — which thing he did not want. Even if it caused him pain, he still needed positive physical contact with other people. On the other hand, if he hid his scars from Mabel — like he did everyone else — then he wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly know him.

The only people — the only living people — who knew about his scars were Bill, Gaston, and the servants who caused the scars in the first place. That these were the only people who would ever really know Gideon was a terrifying thought.

Gideon braced his hands on the counter. He should put on Dipper’s pajama shirt and finish changing, but his eyes were fixated on his scars. That was another reason why he rarely looked at them: He had a hard time looking away. This time, as his eyes traced the patterns in his lacerated skin, he thought about the Northwest’s Relief and about Mabel and about the good fortune that he wouldn’t be getting any new scars tonight.

The doorknob turned.

Gideon jumped back as the door opened. His mind reached a boiling point of panic and vaporized into a thousand scattered thoughts. He moved to the door and tried to force it shut, but it was too late. The door was wide open.

Melody Ramirez stood on the other side.

Her eyes were huge as she took in the scars on Gideon’s bare chest. She took a tentative step forward as Gideon tried in vain to come up with a coherent thought. Since he was already halfway there, he finished grabbing the door and pushing it closed.

Melody caught it.

“Gideon. . .”

“Get out.” His voice was husky with fear. “You have to get out.”

Melody did the opposite: She came into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Every movement she made forced Gideon back like a cornered animal. “Gideon, what is this?”

“Get out! Leave me alone!” His legs bumped against the bathtub on the far side of the bathroom, and he almost fell. “Go away!”

“It’s okay.” Melody put her hands out in a calming gesture. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Leave me alone!” He was desperate, but he didn’t dare push past her. Her very presence trapped him in here.

“I won’t hurt you,” Melody repeated. “I just want to understand.”

Gideon’s eyes darted from Melody to the flannel pajamas that still rested on the counter. He took a risk and lunged for the pajama shirt, snatching it from the counter without touching Melody. He held it to his chest like a shield.

Even though the shirt wasn’t on yet, he felt a little better with it pressed against him. Now he could think slightly less frantic thoughts, and he cursed himself for forgetting to lock the bathroom door. He never had to lock his bathroom door at the Manor, for no one would ever walk in on him without warning.

“Do you want my help putting that on?” Melody asked gently. She reached out, and Gideon’s thoughts scattered again.

“No! Don’t touch me!” He pulled his arms through the sleeves and frantically started working on the buttons, but his fingers were shaking too much to make any progress.

“Okay. I won’t touch you. Let’s just calm down.”

“Calm! You can’t just walk in on me like that! You can’t — you can’t see—” He abandoned his words and worked harder on the shirt buttons.

“I’m sorry,” Melody said. “I saw something that you didn’t want me to see. It’s too late to change that. But I’m here to help. Just tell me what I can do.”

“You can _get out_!” He’d managed to get the top two buttons fastened. How many were left? Too many.

“I can help you with those buttons,” Melody said softly.

“No,” he snarled. “Don’t touch me.” His original panic was beginning to subside into anger. “You’ve already done enough damage.”

“What did I do?” Her tone was still soft and gentle. Gideon hated it.

“Well, for one, you won’t leave me alone,” he snapped. His anger helped his hands shake less, and he managed to get the buttons faster.

“Do you really want to be alone?” asked Melody.

His fingers froze on the last button. Then his eyes jumped up to hers, and he glared with full force. “ _Yes_ ,” he said. No, said a small voice in the back of his mind. But it was drowned out by his anger and panic.

“Okay,” Melody said. “I can leave you alone. Can I get you something first? Pain-relieving salve?”

Gideon straightened his now-buttoned flannel shirt. “Tell me where it is, and I’ll get it myself,” he said.

“Okay.” Melody opened the bathroom door. “I’ll let you finish changing first.”

He could hardly enjoy the privacy when she closed the door behind her. He hurriedly finished changing, discarding his shoes and trousers and putting on the flannel pajama pants. Thankfully, the pajamas covered him from his collarbone to his wrists and ankles. They must have been too big for Dipper, because they fit almost perfectly on Gideon. He spared only a thought for this good luck as he gathered up his clothes and shoes and opened the bathroom door.

“Where’s the salve?” he demanded of Melody, who was waiting in the hall.

“In the kitchen. It’s in the cupboard next to the refrigerator.” Melody searched his face. “Gideon, if you ever want to talk—”

“No,” Gideon interrupted. He started down the hall, away from Melody — then stopped and turned around. “Also,” he said, “don’t come upstairs tonight. No matter what you hear. If anyone wakes me up tonight, then I’ll pay for it later. Got it?” If this lady _really_ wanted to help, then she would stay out of his business.

“I don’t understand,” said Melody.

“I’m sure you’re used to that,” Gideon said nastily. “Do I have to explain it to you before you’ll listen to me?”

“I would like an explanation,” Melody said quietly.

Gideon took a harsh breath. “Fine. Bill Cipher is sending me nightmares tonight. I’m sure they’ll be terrible, because he’s good at that. They’re my punishment for telling you people about Blind Lincoln, who was supposed to be a secret. If you wake me up, then Cipher will just punish me longer. Do _not_ wake me up. Do you understand now?”

“Yes.” Melody didn’t bat an eye at the terrible way Gideon was treating her. “And I’ll be here in the morning if you need support afterwards.”

“I don’t need it from _you_.” Gideon turned on his heel and stalked off.

He went to the kitchen, found the tube of salve, and hurried up the stairs. Ford and Lincoln (who were still on the couch) called softly after him, but he ignored them. He dropped the tube on the floor, flopped onto his air mattress (which was bound to make him sore, unlike his soft bed at the Manor), and tried to catch his breath.

Melody saw. She saw his scars. She saw his scars when he didn’t want to show them to her. Now she knew, and she’d tell everyone. She’d tell everyone why Gideon wore long sleeves all the time. Why he sometimes flinched when people touched him. She’d let out all his secrets, and everyone would hate him.

These were the thoughts that ran through Gideon’s mind as he tried to calm himself and go to sleep. Not that sleep would be any consolation: He was sure that Bill would find plenty of nightmare fuel in Gideon’s experience with Melody. But he longed for the space between waking and dreaming, where he wasn’t aware of anything whatsoever. He longed for that temporary oblivion.

Instead, he had a painful awareness of his racing heart and his uncomfortable bed.

When sleep finally claimed him, Gideon had almost convinced himself that Bill’s nightmares would be the better situation.

~~~~~

Mabel woke to the sound of screaming.

She shot upright in bed. Her eyes searched the darkness for the source of the screaming, until she realized that it was coming from outside the room. It was hoarse and guttural and loud.

It was Gideon.

Her heart raced. His screams were terrible to hear, and she wanted desperately to cover her ears. But she couldn’t. It felt like a betrayal. She couldn’t just ignore Gideon’s pain.

But he’d made her promise not to wake him up, so she couldn’t relieve it, either.

“Mabel?” came Dipper’s voice, just audible under the screams. “Do you want to go downstairs? If we take our pillows and blankets, I bet Melody would let us sleep next to her.”

That felt like running away, which seemed even worse than covering her ears. “You can,” she said. “I’m staying here.”

“You can’t wake him up,” Dipper reminded her.

“I know.” But I can still be there for him.

Dipper took his pillow and blanket and pig (who thankfully didn’t add to the screaming, though he did sound distressed) and left. Mabel joined Dipper in leaving the room, but she didn’t follow him down the stairs.

Gideon was so loud that she could hardly hear the stairs creak under Dipper’s feet. 

She had her own pillow under her arm, and she sat on it. She’d brought a flashlight from the room, but she didn’t turn it on. Gideon thrashed and moaned and screamed, and she didn’t need to see him to imagine the pained and twisted look on his face. Every sound from him set her nerves on edge, until she thought she’d explode. But she didn’t dare move a muscle.

It wasn’t too long before she could make out words in Gideon’s screams. There were obvious ones (no, stop, please) but also specific ones (Order, amulet, memory) and names (Melody, Pacifica, Mabel). When Gideon first called Mabel’s name, she jumped so violently that she thought she might hit the ceiling. “Mabel — get away from Mabel — no, I need to get to Mabel—”

And, worst of all: “Mabel, help me.”

It was then that she started covering her ears.

“Help. Mabel, help!” he pled in his sleep. Mabel covered her ears and rocked back and forth on her pillow. She wished he would wake up. She wished he would stop calling her name. She wished Bill would stop sending these nightmares.

“Evi, help me get to Mabel!” he called. That was another name that he used: Evi. Mabel had no idea who that was, but he called that name almost more than Mabel’s. He alternated between begging Mabel or Evi to help him and telling someone else to leave Mabel or Evi alone. Sometimes he’d call for Ford or Lee or even, once, Dipper.

None of the people he called would come to his aid.

Tears soon streamed down Mabel’s face, and she wanted to get up and run away and never return. But she forced herself to stay. She had to be here for Gideon. If he woke up, he needed to know that someone cared. It was the only thing she could think of that would show support besides waking him up herself.

The screaming wasn’t constant, since Gideon went in and out of REM sleep; but it was loud and spontaneous, and it startled Mabel every time. She was so exhausted that she dozed off between his REM cycles, and he’d yank her out of her sleep every time a new nightmare began. It felt like hours that she sat there, dozing and waking and listening and dozing again, before he shot upright in bed. The screaming cut off, rather than dying down, and Mabel could hear heavy, ragged breathing.

He was awake.

She shifted on her pillow, taking her hands off her ears, and Gideon’s breath hitched. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

Mabel put her hand over her flashlight and switched it on, creating a warm orange glow rather than a beam of light. “It’s Mabel,” she said quietly.

Gideon’s breathing calmed a bit, though it wasn’t even. After a long moment, he asked, “How long have you been sitting there?”

“I. . . I don’t know.” She moved the flashlight so that the beam was facing the wall, and it cast a small ambient light around the room. Now she could see Gideon’s silhouette, sitting up in bed, tangled in his blankets.

“Was I making noise?”

“You. . . you were screaming.”

Gideon went still, and his ragged breathing stopped. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“I wanted. . .” The tears were back, and Mabel found it hard to speak. “I wanted to wake you up.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said sincerely. “Thank you.”

“How can you say that?” Her voice took on an edge of hysteria. “How could you wake up from — from _that_ and thank me for not stopping it sooner?”

“Because that would only make it worse in the long run.” She saw Gideon wipe at his eyes, though in this dim light she couldn’t tell whether they were wet. Seeing the action made her own eyes itch, and she wiped at the tear tracks on her face.

“Did I say anything?” Gideon asked after a moment. “In my sleep?”

Mabel nodded. “You were, um, calling people’s names. Like. . . like mine.” She still felt horribly guilty for not answering his calls for help, even though she’d promised that she wouldn’t.

Gideon was quiet.

“You also called f-for someone named Evi,” Mabel added. “Who, um. . . who is that?”

She saw him go rigid again. “Gideon?” she prompted. She knew it was rude to push him, but she was extremely curious.

He deflated. “Evi. . . Evi is a nickname,” he said. “For Everly Grace.”

Mabel waited for him to explain who that was.

“She was my sister,” he finally said.

Mabel wasn’t sure which word surprised her more: _sister_ or _was_. “You had a sister?” she whispered.

“Yes.” Gideon turned away. “She’s dead.”

Mabel’s heart skipped a beat. What happened? was the first question on her tongue, but she forced herself not to say it. She didn’t know what to say.

“So, understandably, Cipher thinks she’s a great addition to my nightmares,” Gideon added.

“Gideon, I. . .” She didn’t know how she was going to end that sentence. “I wish Bill would leave you alone.”

He sighed. “That’s not happening yet,” he said.

She looked away.

“Mabel?” he said, and she looked back at him. “Thank you. Thanks for being here. But. . . I don’t want you sitting here listening to me instead of getting your sleep.”

This was both painful and relieving to hear. “Dipper went downstairs,” she said. “I. . . I don’t know if it’s any quieter, but I guess I could join him.”

“I feel bad forcing you out of your room, but. . . that might be best.”

Mabel tried to meet his eyes in the dim light. “I don’t want to leave you alone,” she whispered.

He hesitated. “I’ll survive,” he said.

Mabel still didn’t move.

“Please, Mabel. I’d feel guilty knowing that I kept you up all night. I want you to get some sleep if you can.”

He was right. Gideon would still be here in the morning — he would survive the night — and Mabel should get some sleep so that she could greet him tomorrow. She knew the logic of it, but she still felt like she was abandoning him as she stood and scooped up her pillow and flashlight.

“Can you leave the flashlight here?” Gideon asked.

“S-sure,” she said. She tossed it gently over to him, and the beam flew every which way around the room. She brushed the dust off her pillow and went back into her room to grab a blanket. When she returned, the flashlight was off, and Gideon was breathing softly.

“Mabel,” he said as she stood at the top of the stairs. “Thank you.”

It didn’t feel like she deserved his thanks. She was abandoning him. But she took a deep breath and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She walked down the stairs, leaving Gideon alone to face the nightmares.


	14. Chapter 14

The light of the rising sun coaxed Melody’s eyes open. She blinked and sat up, grimacing at the soreness that came from sleeping on the floor. Mabel and Dipper were next to her, curled up in their blankets with Waddles between them, and Melody was mindful of them as she quietly got to her feet and moved to Ford’s bed. She checked Fidds’ vitals, found nothing irregular (which was strange, considering that he’d been in another dimension yesterday), and gently shook him. “Fiddleford?”

Nothing.

It scared her that she was the only person who could help him. She was a certified nurse, yes, but she hardly had the necessary hospital equipment to find out what was wrong with Fiddleford, or to most effectively help him. For now, he seemed to be in a coma — which was worrying in itself, for she had no feeding tube with which to give him nutrients. If he didn’t wake up naturally soon, he could die of starvation on her watch.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Melody took a deep breath. As worrying as Fiddleford’s condition was, it wasn’t the most pressing issue right now. With the sun cresting the horizon, it was well past seven A.M. — which meant that Stanley had less than three hours left with them before he had to leave. Melody should at least send him off with a nice family breakfast.

She changed into a set of fresh clothes (which she had brought from her house yesterday, after leaving Ford at the Order with Lee) and took her elderly monitor and slipped from Ford’s room. The house was silent, and Melody stepped softly with bare feet across the carpeted floor. The carpet turned to hardwood as she reached the entryway, and she paused when she looked into the living room.

Stanford and Stanley were asleep on the couch. Ford’s head was on Lee’s shoulder, and Lee’s head was resting on Ford’s. They looked ready to slip off the couch altogether, but they stayed in their slumped sitting positions. Ford let out a loud snore (a sound with which Melody was familiar), and the brothers shifted. Lee sighed as he settled back down.

Melody couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.

She padded into the kitchen, leaving the brothers to their sleep. The sun wasn’t yet shining through the westward kitchen window, but Melody still felt cheerful as she flipped the light on and started making breakfast. She tried to be reasonably quiet, but it wasn’t long before Lee appeared in the kitchen entrance. “Good morning,” he said as he rubbed at his eyes.

Melody glanced to him. “Good morning,” she replied. “How did you sleep?”

Lee chuckled. “We were up for most of the night,” he said. “I doubt we got more than three hours of sleep. But, it’s hard to feel tired when you’re learning about an entire life that you’ve lost.”

He said it casually, and Melody paused and turned from the stove. “If you don’t mind my asking,” she said, “how do you talk so easily about your amnesia? Is it just because it’s been so long?”

There was a moment of quiet as Lee considered her question. “Partly,” he said. “Partly through. . . supernatural intervention.”

Melody met his eyes. He didn’t look away, though he didn’t seem to want any follow-up questions. So she nodded and turned back to the food.

A minute later, Ford joined them. “Melody,” he said in lieu of a greeting, “I’m going to need your help.” He grimaced and put a hand on his back.

She smiled at him. “Good morning to you, too.”

He scowled in return, but she knew that it was in response to his back pain, not to her. Although. . . it _was_ irresponsible of her to leave Ford without a bed — injured and aged as he was. It sounded as if he hadn’t gotten much sleep to begin with, but sitting on the couch all night had surely left him stiff.

“I can take over with that,” Lee said, nodding to the scrambled eggs and vegetables on the stove. “If you need to help Ford.”

Melody smiled sheepishly. “It was meant to be for you,” she said, “but if you’re willing. . .”

“Sure.”

So Melody gave Lee instructions on how to finish her recipe. Then she let him take over as she helped Ford rebandage his injuries. She noticed Lee glancing over at Ford during the process. Ford caught the glances, too: and eventually, he simply said, “Yes. The Order was responsible for this.”

Lee grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Melody finished helping Ford, including a brief massage of his upper back. “Do you want one too, Lee?” she asked.

He gave a small laugh. “That’d be lovely, but I’ll be all right. We’d better start eating before this gets cold.”

While Lee set the table, Melody went to get the others. Mabel and Dipper were already awake when she reached them, and they sleepily entered the kitchen as Melody went up the stairs.

“Gideon?” she called softly as she reached the top of the stairs. The morning sun shone through the eastward attic window, and its rays fell on a lump of blankets and flannel pajamas.

“Go away,” the lump said.

“There’s a warm breakfast downstairs,” Melody said. “We’re going to start eating soon. I hope you’ll come down.”

Gideon pushed himself upright, squinting at her through his tangled white hair.

“How are you feeling?” she asked gently.

With a disgruntled sigh, Gideon threw off his blankets and got to his feet. “Don’t even try,” he mumbled. He sounded exhausted. “Just leave me alone.”

He moved past her and went down the stairs. Halfway down, he nearly tripped over Waddles, who was headed in the opposite direction. “Stupid pig,” he muttered. Melody watched Gideon move out of sight, and she waited for Waddles to get to the top of the stairs before she went down herself.

When she made it to the kitchen, she found her makeshift family sitting at the table. Lee was serving the food, and Ford quietly watched his brother with a faint, sleepy smile on his face. The kids had their eyes half-closed as they tried to adjust to the light. Everybody was tired — herself included — but Melody couldn’t help but feel contentment at seeing them all together.

Even if it could only last for a moment.

~~~~~

Lee finished serving the food, then leaned forward. “Are you okay, Gideon?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Gideon said. “Do you think he’ll send me nightmares if I take naps, too?”

Lincoln grimaced. “I can try to reason with him today.”

“Don’t bother,” Gideon muttered. “He won’t listen.”

Gideon was right, but Lincoln still decided to talk to Bill. The demon had successfully gotten his revenge; surely he didn’t have to extend the punishment. Surely the preparations for Cipher’s escape took priority over terrorizing Gideon’s dreams.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Lincoln asked Gideon. “To help you feel better, maybe?”

Gideon swallowed a bite of food. “I’ll be fine,” he said to his plate.

“Did you have any more dreams about Evi?” Mabel asked softly.

Gideon flinched, and Mabel immediately looked guilty. “Yeah,” Gideon said. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Everly?” asked Lee. “Have you heard from her recently?”

Gideon hunched over his plate. “No.”

Mabel gave Lee a confused look, then turned to Gideon. “Doesn’t he know—”

“Shut up,” Gideon said. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

With that, the table fell into silence. Maybe Lincoln shouldn’t have asked about Grace. If Gideon really was having nightmares about her, even after six years. . . then it must be a painful topic.

So, rather than make Gideon more uncomfortable, Lee changed the subject. “Stanford tells me that our brother Shermie was a good man,” he said. “Mabel and Dipper, do you two have any memories to share?”

Mabel was too chagrined after Gideon had told her to shut up, but Dipper’s eyes brightened. “Yeah, Grandpa Shermie was great,” he said. “I really miss him, but he left some old records for Dad, and we like to listen to those to remember him.”

Dipper talked for the remainder of the meal — which thing seemed to help him wake up — and Lee listened with the occasional question or comment. It was hard to hear stories about an older brother that Lincoln didn’t remember, especially because Shermie had passed away some years earlier. Shermie, as well as Lincoln’s parents, would only ever be stories in his mind.

But at least Lincoln had those stories. That was more than he’d had yesterday.

After breakfast, Dipper and Gideon went up the stairs to change. Mabel started to follow, but she paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Grunkle Lee,” she said, “maybe I shouldn’t ask you, but. . . what happened to Everly?”

Lincoln frowned at her, unsure of what the question meant. “She moved away six years ago,” he said. “I haven’t heard from her since. Why?”

Now Mabel looked confused, too. “Gideon said. . .” She glanced up the stairs to make sure that Gideon wasn’t listening. “Gideon told me she was dead.”

Lee’s eyes widened. “I haven’t heard anything about that,” he said.

“She died when she left.” Gideon appeared at the top of the stairs, and it seemed that he had been listening after all. He was still in his pajamas, and his clothes from yesterday were draped over his arm. “She died as soon as she walked out the door.”

Mabel jumped at the sound of Gideon’s voice, and Lincoln raised his eyes to look at the boy. “Didn’t she just move away?” he asked.

“She’s _dead_ ,” Gideon said firmly. He came down the stairs, and Mabel scrambled out of the way. “I don’t want to talk about her,” he added, giving Mabel a significant look. “Just leave it alone.”

“Sorry,” Mabel whispered.

Gideon disappeared into the hall without accepting her apology.

Lee watched him go, trying to figure out what this meant. Was Grace actually dead? Had Gideon convinced himself, for some reason, that she was? Whatever the reason, the boy obviously didn’t want to explain. Lincoln turned to Mabel. “I know Gideon misses Everly,” he said, “and so do I. Other than that. . . I’m not sure. It’s probably best to do as he asks.”

Mabel nodded. Her eyes lingered on the entrance to the hallway, but eventually she turned away and went upstairs to change out of her pajamas.

Ford came out of the kitchen and walked over to Lee. “What time do you think it is?” he asked with a glance at the clock.

Lee followed his gaze. The clock’s hands were pointing to five fifteen. “We jumped forward three and a half hours yesterday,” he said, “so it’s about eight forty-five, I think.”

“So you still have more than an hour with us,” Ford said with a small smile.

Lee shook his head. “Cipher said I had to be gone by ten A.M. I don’t want to take the chance and have him possess me again.” He knew he was going to get possessed today, but he didn’t want it to happen in front of his new family.

“When are you going to leave, then?” Ford asked.

Lee glanced at the clock. “When the clock strikes six, I think. That would be about nine thirty real time, with a bit of a buffer in case my estimation is off.”

Ford’s smile dropped, but he gave a grudging nod. “Probably for the best.”

That gave Lincoln forty-five minutes before he had to go. How did that seem like so long and so short at the same time?

Gideon emerged from the hallway, dressed in his slacks and button-down shirt and vest. At the same time, Melody came from the kitchen. She was about to walk down the hall, but she paused when her eyes caught the sunlight from the front window. “Wait a second,” she said. She looked over to Lee and Ford. “It’s January sixth.”

Lee nodded. “The time bubble is officially over,” he said. “We’re back in the same timeline as the rest of this dimension.”

Melody stared at him, then shook her head. “It’ll take a long time for me to wrap my head around that,” she said. With that, she went into the hall.

Gideon glanced at her silently as she passed. Then he shifted his gaze to Lee. “Blind Lincoln,” he said, “can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” Lincoln replied.

“Yesterday, Stanford said something about a memory gun,” Gideon said. “One that could do the same job as the amulet. Is that true?”

Lincoln glanced to Stanford. “Yes,” he told Gideon. “I was instructed not to tell you, in case it encouraged you to miss memory sessions. But it hardly matters now: I believe Stanford destroyed it.”

Ford nodded. Gideon didn’t seem satisfied, though. “Did you use it on Pacifica’s parents?” he asked. “Did they forget about their daughter?”

Lincoln hesitated. “Yes,” he said, this time reluctantly. “On Lord Cipher’s instruction. If you ask Cipher, he’ll say that Bud technically agreed to it. I don’t see it that way, but. . . yes. I made them forget that Pacifica was their daughter.”

Gideon nodded, like he’d suspected this.

“How could you do that?” Ford asked. He sounded vaguely horrified. “You knew what that gun did to you, right?”

“Yes, I knew,” Lincoln said. “I’ve been using it for more than twenty years, though. It’s what we used after Gaston lost the amulet and before Grace could use it. I hardly blame the gun for what happened to me.”

Ford’s face darkened. “I guess you know who to blame now.”

Lincoln wasn’t sure if he meant Fiddleford or Bill, but his mind went to Bill first. He still couldn’t believe that he hadn’t connected the dots before. Bill had groomed him to be an Order member and then the Order leader — why hadn’t Lincoln ever suspected that he’d taken Lee’s memory to create that opportunity?

He sighed, then looked to Ford. “Do you think I could go see Fiddleford?” he asked. “I know he’s still unconscious, but. . . I want to see him.”

“I don’t know why you would,” Ford said, “but I guess so. As long as Melody doesn’t stop you.”

The brothers left Gideon in the living room and went down the hall. Lincoln couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Ford’s and Melody’s relationship was. They talked about Melody being Ford’s employee, yet it seemed as if she were the one in charge. It was intriguing, to say the least.

They reached Ford’s bedroom, and Lincoln knocked softly on the closed door. There was no response at first; but, after a minute of waiting, the door opened. “Yes?” Melody asked.

“Could I come in?” said Lee. “I want to see Fiddleford.”

A guarded look entered Melody’s eye. “Why?”

“I just. . . want to see him.”

Melody gave him a calculating stare, then nodded. She opened the door wider and gestured for Lincoln and Ford to come in. Lincoln thought he caught her give a warning look to Ford as they passed.

They didn’t go close to the bed, but Lincoln moved so that he could see Fiddleford’s face. The man’s eyes were closed, and he lay still under the blanket. He was bald, with liver spots dotting his wrinkled scalp. A long white beard — longer than anything Lincoln had ever seen — trailed sideways from his chin to the floor. Deep wrinkles furrowed his face and arms. Melody had changed him into soft white clothes, and he might have been a hospital patient if not for the ordinary room in which he lay. He looked fragile and helpless. No wonder Melody had been worried about letting anyone in.

As Lincoln looked at Fiddleford, he half expected to feel angry. But it didn’t come. He’d never known this man — not after his amnesia, at least — and even though he knew that Fiddleford was responsible, he couldn’t equate that wrinkled face with the long-imagined attacker who had stolen his memory.

Besides, it was Bill Cipher who was truly responsible.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” Lee asked Melody quietly.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Soon, I hope. I hope I can help him. I don’t have anything except whatever medical supplies I have here and at my house. If I can’t get him to a hospital. . . I don’t know what will happen.”

Ford cast a worried glance to Lee. “If he died, would we be able to form the Cipher Wheel?” he asked.

Lee frowned. “All I know is that Cipher needs us alive,” he said. “For what, I don’t know — but I don’t think he’ll let Fiddleford die.”

Melody folded her arms. “You’re not telling me that I should ask a demon to help me tend my patient, are you?”

“No, of course not,” Lincoln said. “But you _could_ ask the creatures of the forest. The nymphs, I hear, are particularly good with healing. Plus, they’re bound to know more about interdimensional travel than we humans do.”

“Good idea,” Melody said thoughtfully. “Do you know where the nymphs are?”

“I do,” Ford said. “Or, my Journals mention where to find some hamadryads. I could go and—”

Melody held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t think you should go into the forest right now. Not with your injuries.”

Ford looked annoyed. “My injuries hardly matter, Melody, when the fate of the whole forest is at stake.”

Ford had a point, but Lincoln didn’t want to hear this argument right now. “Thank you, Melody, for letting us come in,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to help Fiddleford.”

“Thank you,” Melody said. “How much longer do you think you’ll be here?”

Lincoln glanced at Ford. “About half an hour, I think.”

She nodded. “Okay. Come get me then.” She smiled, and Lee took that as a dismissal. He left the room, and Ford followed.

“He looks different than he did thirty years ago,” Ford said, referring to Fiddleford. He glanced at Lincoln. “He never did like you, but. . . I didn’t know about the memory gun at all, much less that he would use it on you.”

“It was on Bill’s orders,” Lee said quietly. “I don’t know if whether he liked me or not had anything to do with it.”

“A bit like Pacifica’s parents?” asked Ford.

Lincoln looked away. “Exactly.”

The brothers returned to the living room, where Mabel, Dipper, and Gideon sat on the couch. “There you are,” said Dipper. Strangely enough, there was a pig on his lap, and he rubbed its ears. “What now? You’re not leaving yet, are you, Grunkle Lee?”

Lee glanced at the clock to see that fifteen minutes had passed. “Not yet,” he said. “I have another half hour.”

“Will you come sit with us?” Mabel asked timidly. “Just. . . for a little while.”

“Of course,” Lee said. Gideon got off the couch, and Mabel and Dipper moved to make room for their grunkle. Lincoln sat between the twins as Ford got a chair for himself and Gideon stood to the side. Mabel immediately curled up next to Lincoln on the right, and Dipper leaned against him on the left. The pig made curious snuffling noises and nudged Lincoln’s arm. “Who’s this?” Lee asked, holding out a hand for the pig to sniff.

“This is Waddles,” Dipper said. “He likes you, I think.”

Lincoln reached out his arm (the one that Mabel wasn’t clinging to) and rubbed Waddles’ ears. “I like him, too,” he said with a smile.

A glance downward showed a similar smile on Dipper’s face.

Looking down at the twins, Lincoln felt a surge of warm affection in his chest, and he found himself blinking back tears. Did he really need to leave this? Couldn’t he stay here with his family?

No. He couldn’t. He knew that, but. . . he didn’t want it to be true.

It was hard to believe that just twenty-four hours ago, Lincoln had been alone in a cold cave, waiting for gravity to settle back down, never imagining that he could be part of a family. When he woke up yesterday, he didn’t even know what Stanford Pines looked like, much less that he was his brother. He didn’t know that Mabel and Dipper, the twins that he’d heard about from Pacifica, were actually his grandniece and grandnephew. He didn’t know anything about the life he’d lost to his amnesia.

Then he went back to the Order. Then he heard Stanford’s voice, and everything changed. What little knowledge Lincoln had about himself had been overturned in an instant. He’d learned more about his past in the last day than he had in the thirty years since losing his memory. It was confusing and painful — but already it was better than not knowing at all. Already he felt his capacity for love increasing, because now he had more people to love.

Having a family to love, it seemed, would be worth the pain of leaving them.

Not that he wanted that pain — but it was inevitable. Lincoln tried to keep his eyes away from the clock, though he knew it was futile. He watched the minute hand of the clock move slowly upward from the six to the twelve, and he willed time to stop.

But it kept moving.

Mabel and Dipper seemed determined not to look at the clock, the way they were pressed up against their uncle. Or maybe they wanted to prove to themselves that he was real, that he was here, that their efforts (which Ford had described to Lincoln last night) hadn’t been for nothing. Whatever the reason, Lincoln was glad that they were next to him.

After a few minutes of silence, Ford spoke up. “I’ll find Robbie and Wendy today,” he said, “and tell them about the Cipher Wheel. Is there anything else you can think of, Lee, that would help to defeat Bill?”

Lee considered this. “Whatever Melody can do to help Fiddleford, so that he can join us.”

“Will he even want to join us?” asked Dipper. “He stole Ford’s Journals. He. . . he hurt you, Grunkle Lee.”

“I don’t know what he’ll want,” Lee said. “I can’t imagine what spending thirty years in Bill’s dimension has done to him. We’re just lucky he’s alive.”

Ford gave Lee a pained look at that, but Lee tried to ignore it. Whether or not he had hurt Lincoln (as Dipper put it), Fidds was still a part of the Cipher Wheel. They whom Bill called his Symbols couldn’t afford any rifts between them.

And speaking of rifts, “What about Pacifica?” said Gideon. “When I first saw her down at the Order, she told me that Bill ‘kept her sane.’ I doubt she’ll want to help us.”

Dipper lifted his head at this. “We can’t let her anywhere near Mabel,” he said.

“I don’t know what we’ll do,” Lincoln said, “but. . . I’ll talk to her. I’ll try to convince her.”

Gideon gave a noise of derision. “Good luck.”

“Pacifica will never help us,” Mabel mumbled. “She’ll probably try to stop us.”

Lincoln glanced down at her. “I’m sorry about what she’s done to you,” he said softly.

Mabel didn’t answer.

The hands on the clock were getting closer to six A.M., though Lincoln knew that that really meant nine thirty A.M. Melody was right earlier when she said that the time shift would take a while to get used to, and Lincoln could tell that everyone was still tired. He wouldn’t mind more sleep himself.

But that wasn’t an option. Lincoln wished he could stay here, but he still felt an obligation to do what Bill had instructed and leave his family. Their first deal — that Lincoln would stay within the boundaries appointed by Bill — was still in effect after thirty years. Whatever magic Bill had would compel Lincoln to hold up his end of the bargain, whether or not Lincoln felt tired.

So, when the clock read five fifty-five, Lee gently moved the twins off him. “I’d better get ready to go,” he said quietly.

“Do you really have to?” Dipper said immediately.

Lincoln closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, I do.”

He got to his feet, and the twins (Dipper moving Waddles from his lap) stood with him. Mabel clung to his arm. Dipper’s expression was stubborn, as if the boy wanted to forcefully stop Lee from leaving. Ford stood as well and moved over to his brother. “Is there anything we can do?” Ford asked. “To keep you here?”

“No,” Lincoln whispered. Nothing they did would stop Bill from taking over Lincoln’s body, and he didn’t want them to see that again.

Mabel raised her head to look at Lincoln. “When can you come back, Grunkle Lee?” she asked. Her eyes were simultaneously hopeful and fearful.

“I. . . I don’t know,” Lincoln said. “I don’t know what will happen. We have to get all ten Symbols on board with the Cipher Wheel, and then. . .”

“Then we have to figure out a way that you can join us,” Ford finished.

“Yes.” He had absolutely no idea how they would do that. But there _had_ to be a way. With a deep breath, he continued, “I’ll need you to find any information that you can. I won’t have time to look myself.” Even if he did, Bill wouldn’t let him.

“We’ll do that,” Ford said.

Lincoln put a hand on Ford’s arm. “Thank you,” he said. Then, he turned his gaze to Gideon. “And thank you, Gideon, for what you did. I’m. . . I’m sorry about Cipher’s punishment. I wish there was something I could do.”

Gideon managed a small smile. “You don’t have to do anything,” he said.

Lincoln smiled back. Then, “Oh, Dipper,” he said as he remembered, “will you run go get Melody?”

But Dipper didn’t have to go far, because Melody came into the living room a moment later. “I’m right here,” she said. “Are you heading out, Lee?”

Lincoln nodded. “I’m sorry, Melody, for worrying you,” he said. “Yesterday, when Ford came to the Order, I mean. That wasn’t fair.”

Melody smiled softly. “I’m just glad you’re both safe.”

“Me too,” said Lee.

Ford didn’t seem to think that “safe” included the demonic possession that Lincoln would soon experience, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he took a shaky breath and said, “I’ll miss you, Lee.”

“Me too,” Lee said again, softer this time. Mabel and Dipper moved away as Lee stepped forward and embraced his brother.

Ford returned the hug. Like yesterday, his grip was strong and fierce. This time, rather than standing limply in Ford’s arms, Lincoln hugged his brother with the same strength. The brothers clung to each other, and for a moment Lincoln couldn’t imagine ever moving away.

He didn’t know how long they stood there with their arms wrapped around each other. Ford’s breath caught in his throat, and Lincoln felt tears forming in his eyes. Any sadness in his heart that he was leaving was matched by a grateful relief that he had found a family. Found _his_ family.

He’d get back to them somehow.

Finally, Lincoln relaxed his grip. Ford reluctantly let go, and the brothers moved to face each other. With a smile that he hoped was encouraging, Lincoln turned and walked to the door. He grabbed his coat from the coatrack and pulled it on.

“You can’t go.” The words burst from Ford’s lips, and he stepped up and put a forestalling hand on Lincoln’s arm. “I just found you. You can’t go.”

“I have to,” Lee said. He gently pushed Ford’s hand away. “It’ll be okay.”

Tears welled in Ford’s eyes, and he threw his arms around his brother for a second time.

By the time Lincoln had hugged everyone — Ford, the twins, Melody, Gideon — and said his goodbyes, the clock read six ten. Lee’s time to get to the Order before Bill took over was running out.

With a heavy heart, Lincoln opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Thank you, Stanford, for everything. For telling me about my past.”

“Of course,” Ford whispered. “I. . . I’m glad I finally found you.”

Lincoln hesitated. “I don’t know if I’m the person you were looking for,” he admitted. “But. . . I’m glad I was found.”

It took Ford a moment to respond. “I love you,” he finally said.

Lincoln looked around at his family. Mabel and Dipper hung on the edges of the doorway, and Ford stood in the center. Melody and Gideon hung back. Lincoln had only just met most of these people, but already he felt a deep bond with them.

“I love you, too,” he said.

The winter air wrapped around his coat and stung his cheeks, reminding him that he had to get moving. His bond with Bill, unfortunately deeper than that with his family, pulled him away.

Lincoln raised an arm in farewell, and Ford did the same. Dipper waved, but Mabel just clung to the door frame and stared at Lincoln through the tears on her face. Lincoln smiled at each of them in turn, though the expression was tempered by his sorrow.

“Goodbye,” he said to his family.

Then he left them. The wind swirled around him, and he was borne away in its wake.

In his place, he left the daunting question of whether he would ever return.


	15. Chapter 15

**WINTER 1993**

Percy Pleasure had a front-row ticket to his own death.

It started in 1990, when his arms and shoulders started twitching at random times. Things started slipping from his hands, and it took more effort to write a simple letter.

Percy was frustrated, but largely unconcerned. But he was married to a doctor — and Eleanor knew that something must be wrong. She took him to the hospital where she was working in Baker City, Oregon, and set up appointments with her colleagues to find out what was happening and if it was worrisome.

They quickly ruled out a tumor. Good, Percy thought — then nothing was wrong. He was simply getting old. He was only forty-seven years old — he hadn’t expected to think of himself as “old” until he was at least sixty — but his body was already showing the signs of age.

Ellie didn’t buy this explanation. She was adamant that the doctors keep looking. A tumor was only one possibility, she said, and Percy was still struggling — his speech sometimes got a slur to it when he wasn’t paying attention, and he was losing his grip on things with more frequency. So, for the rest of the year, doctors worked to discover what was going on. And, at the beginning of 1991, they had a diagnosis.

Percy had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Lou Gehrig’s disease. His body would run down; his muscles would degenerate and become useless; eventually, he wouldn’t even have the strength to breathe.

How much longer did he have to live? was Percy’s first question. The doctors weren’t sure. Perhaps three years, perhaps five, perhaps fifteen. ALS was largely unpredictable, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. They gave him medication that would slow it down — but the medication had its own unpleasant side effects, and it didn’t seem to slow anything down. Percy soon found it hard to speak without tripping over his words, and his gait became that of a shambling old man. He couldn’t run the Order in this state — not when it exhausted him just to walk down the entrance stairs. He had to pass on the torch and choose a new leader of the Order.

Traditionally, the office would pass to his son, Patrick. But Lord Cipher would have none of that: Patrick was weak, he said — and, as much as it hurt him to do so, Percy couldn’t help but agree. So who could he appoint instead? Eleanor?

No, said Cipher. Lincoln.

At first, Percy wasn’t sure; but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Lincoln was highly loyal to Cipher, and installing him as the leader of the Order would only increase that loyalty. His amnesia made him a good candidate, as Cipher was one of the first people he’d met after losing his memory. Finally, if Cipher could have one of his own Symbols on his side — even leading his cult — then he would bypass any potential problems from the Cipher Wheel.

So, with shambling step and slurred voice, Percy called his final meeting as the Order leader. He officially appointed Lincoln as his replacement. This was at the end of 1991, less than a year after Percy’s diagnosis.

Patrick was angry. Percy didn’t have the energy to deal with him. Eleanor stepped between them and tried to mollify her son, though she was also angry — not at Percy for appointing Lincoln, but at Patrick for being unworthy to step into his father’s shoes. This anger, combined with the stress of caring for Percy in his weakened state, took a toll on Ellie. Yet she stayed faithful, and Percy couldn’t ask for a better companion.

It wasn’t long before Percy could no longer get down the stairs to visit Lincoln. Then he couldn’t walk at all. The year of 1992 was a downward spiral in which Percy watched his own body refuse to respond to his mental commands.

His body became a prison, and Percy was trapped inside.

Before he lost the ability to speak entirely, he firmly told Ellie and the doctors not to revive him when he stopped breathing. He didn’t want to be brought back to life, and he didn’t want any machines to breathe for him. He would rather suffocate than live on borrowed time. Two years of a slow death had exhausted Percy’s fear of it, and he felt as if he were simply waiting to slip from his body into the world of spirits.

It wasn’t long before Ellie could no longer care for Percy on her own. She checked him into a hospice in Baker City, and the staff there helped Percy live in relative comfort for the final days of his life. It was supremely boring: He couldn’t do much more than move his eyes, and he couldn’t speak to Lord Cipher in his dreams. He was outside of Bill’s prison; there would be no more contact between them.

Before Percy left Gravity Rises, Bill had appeared one last time to say goodbye and to thank Percy for his devoted service as Order leader. Other Order members had visited and paid Percy their final respects.

Lincoln could not leave the Order headquarters. He hadn’t visited.

By the beginning of 1993, Percy was completely paralyzed. Ellie and Patrick came to visit him often in hospice, and they would tell him about the outside world. Sometimes, Ellie simply sat there and silently held her husband’s hand. He wished he could console her: He would tell her how he planned to find his way back home once he was a dead spirit and contact her from beyond the grave. The veil between living and dead was thin in Gravity Rises, and Ellie wasn’t going to lose him entirely.

But, of course, he couldn’t say any of that.

As time went on, it got harder and harder to breathe. Percy felt like he had run a marathon, even when he hadn’t moved an inch. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t get enough air.

It came as a relief when, on February 20th, 1993, he stopped breathing altogether.

~~~~~

Percy was dead, and Lincoln was angry.

It was a constant anger, directed at everyone and everything. He was angry at Percy for leaving him. Angry at Bill for failing to stop Percy’s disease. Angry at the universe for taking Percy’s life.

Lincoln had heard about Percy’s death two days ago, and he hadn’t been calm since. Activity in the Order had halted (much as it had for Gabriel’s death, six years ago), and Lincoln was left alone to stew in his anger and frustration. He tried to alleviate his energy: He went running on the Northwest grounds; he threw his meager possessions around his room; sometimes, he punched the rock walls of the Order and tore up the skin on his knuckles. All of this helped, but the anger never truly left.

Last night, Lord Cipher had appeared in Lincoln’s dreams and offered to help him overcome his anger. But Lincoln was too upset to even consider this offer. The anger gave him a sort of emotional high that kept him crashing down into his grief, and he refused to let go of that.

Currently, Lincoln sat at the desk in Percy’s office, looking at the blood on his hands from punching the walls. He knew that he should go get the first aid kit from the broom closet and clean the blood away; but the pain helped him bear his ever-present anger, if just for a moment. He wondered if he should ask someone to bring him a punching bag and some boxing gloves, so that he could let out his anger without hurting his hands. He’d have to ask Percy about it next time he saw him.

Wait.

Lincoln moaned and put his head in his hands. No, he couldn’t ask Percy. Percy was gone. Why would he think that? His anger resurfaced, and he wanted to jump to his feet and shove the polished wooden desk to the floor. But he didn’t; he simply closed his eyes and curled his fingers through his hair.

“Blind Lincoln?” asked a nervous voice.

Lincoln looked up. Patrick Pleasure — or Bud, as he liked to be called — stood in the doorway.

Immediately, Lincoln’s mind leapt into action: Here’s someone. Here’s someone we don’t like. We can stand up and run over and push him to the floor and punch him right in the face. He would be a _much_ better punching bag than the wall.

Lincoln ignored the thoughts and slowly lowered his hands from his head. “What is it?” he asked Bud. He knew that Bud hated him, ever since Lincoln had become the leader of the Order. But Bud _had_ just addressed Lincoln by his formal title — the one given to him by Percy. Maybe that was a good sign.

“I have, um, a message for you,” Bud said. “From my mom.”

“Is she okay?” Lincoln hadn’t seen Ellie for almost a week. It was a Northwest servant that told Lincoln about Percy’s death. Had something happened to Ellie, now, too?

Bud flinched a little at Lincoln’s question. “She’s okay as she can be after her husband died,” he said. His tone was biting.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Lincoln said impatiently. “I mean, is she safe? Why did she send you instead of coming herself?”

“She doesn’t have to bend over backwards for you,” Bud said. “She sent me because she’s _busy_ planning Dad’s funeral.” Lincoln opened his mouth, but Bud put up his hands to forestall him. “Look. She just wanted me to tell you that she’s sorry she hasn’t stopped by yet, and that if you need her you can ask the Northwests to call her. That’s it.”

Lincoln blinked. “That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah,” said Bud, his tone resentful. “She's still thinking of you even when she’s mourning.”

Lincoln hardly noticed the resentful tone; he was focused on something else. “You said she was planning the funeral,” he said. “Do you know what the plans are for that? Will it be here, or in the Northwest Manor?”

Bud frowned. “Why would it be in the Northwest Manor?”

“Well, they have nicer rooms,” Lincoln said. “It’d be easier to set everything up there.”

Bud blinked slowly; he looked confused. “The funeral is going to be in Baker City,” he said. “There’s a funeral home where we’ll hold a service, and then we’ll bury Dad here in Gravity Rises.”

“What?” Surely Lincoln misheard.

“The funeral will be in Baker City,” Bud repeated. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t go to Baker City,” Lincoln said. “You can’t hold the funeral without me.”

Bud’s eyes widened as he realized the dilemma. Without special permission from Lord Cipher, Lincoln was only allowed in the Order headquarters and in the Northwest Manor. If the funeral was anywhere else — and if people other than Order members were invited — then Lincoln couldn’t attend.

The Pleasures _had_ to hold a funeral that Lincoln could attend. If he couldn’t say a final goodbye to Percy. . . he’d never get closure.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t hold the funeral here,” Bud said. “We’re inviting our extended family, and Dad’s business partners, and Mom’s coworkers. It has to be in a public place.”

“What about Order members?” Fresh, hot anger surged through Lincoln’s veins, and he stood up. “Are you inviting everybody but me?”

Bud stared at him. The hesitancy in his face drained into a hard, angry look. “Yes,” he said. “You’ve already had enough time with my dad. It’s time for other people to get a chance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lincoln demanded. “None of us got enough time with him! He’s _dead_ , Patrick!”

Bud flinched. “Do you think I don’t know that? He’s _my_ dad! You stole his time away from me while he was alive, and now _nobody_ gets to be with him!”

“Stole his time?” Lincoln repeated incredulously. “He _chose_ to spend time with me. He chose me as the new Order leader, too. I didn’t _steal_ anything.”

Bud’s face darkened. “It’s been a year, and you’re still gloating over taking my inheritance?”

Hurt him, urged a voice in Lincoln’s head. He has no right to speak to you that way. Hurt him. Make him feel pain.

That voice was getting harder to ignore. “No,” Lincoln said tightly. “I’m just reminding you that it was Percy’s choice, not mine.”

“Sure,” Bud said in a tone that conveyed the opposite. “Well, now he’s gone, so it’s easy to say you’re just doing what he wanted.”

“I _am_ doing what he wanted,” Lincoln said. He rubbed at the bloodstains on his knuckles. “Look. There’s an easy solution to all this. Just hold two funerals: one for the Order, and one for everyone else. Problem solved.”

“It’s hard enough to plan one funeral,” Bud shot back. “We’re not going to hold an entirely different one just for _you_. Funerals are for family and friends.”

“And what am I?” Lincoln demanded.

“I don’t know, but you’re not family,” Bud retorted. “No matter how much Dad wanted you as his son instead of me, the fact is that _I’m_ his son. You can steal my inheritance, but you can’t steal my place in our family.”

“I’m not stealing anything!” The anger pounded in Lincoln’s head. “You can’t exclude me from Percy’s funeral!”

Bud’s face twisted into an expression of grim triumph. “Look,” he said, “if Cipher says you can go, then you’ll be welcome to come.”

“You know he won’t!” Lincoln stepped stridently around the desk. “You know I’m stuck down here!”

“Is that my fault? I’m sorry you’re so _special_ that you can’t leave the Order, but that’s not my problem.”

“It’s your problem when you plan the funeral _deliberately_ to leave me out!” Lincoln moved closer to Bud; with each step, his mind cried out for him to grab Bud and shake him and slam him against the wall. “I have to be there, Patrick! Percy was the closest thing to family that I had!”

“Well, he _wasn’t_ family,” Bud said, “because you don’t have one. And you can’t have mine!”

With that, Lincoln’s anger could no longer be contained. He let out a scream of rage and rushed at Bud.

He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall. “Take it back,” he growled. “Take it back.”

“No.” Bud looked terrified, but he stared Lincoln resolutely in the face. “I can’t take back the truth.”

Hurt him, screamed Lincoln’s anger. _Hurt him!_

Lincoln drew back a fist to do just that, but Bud ducked out of the way. He kicked at Lincoln and pushed him off balance; Lincoln stumbled back, and Bud — the coward — was halfway out the door by the time Lincoln steadied himself. “You trying to run?” Lincoln called after him. “You don’t have the guts to face me?”

Bud didn’t answer, and Lincoln rushed at him again. He pushed Bud out of the office and shoved him to the ground. Bud tried to roll away, but Lincoln knelt over him and pinned him down.

“Help!” Bud yelled. “Help me!”

But no one was around to hear him.

Lincoln’s anger pulsed through his arms and head, consuming all rational thought in its wake. All Lincoln could think about was how much he wanted Bud to feel pain. Bud twisted beneath his grip, but it was no use.

“Are you going to beg for mercy?” Lincoln pushed Bud against the floor. “Are you going to apologize?”

“For what?” Bud demanded. “For stopping you from stealing my family?”

“I’m _not_ a _thief_!” Lincoln raised his arm—

—and punched Bud squarely in the nose.

There was a sickening snap, and Bud’s head rolled back on his neck. Lincoln reveled in the sound, reveled in the blood that spurted from Bud’s nose. The rage was joined by elation as Lincoln got to his feet and smiled triumphantly down at Bud’s unconscious body.

Then the anger drained away, leaving cold horror in its wake.

“Oh no,” Lincoln breathed. What had he _done_?

He dropped to his knees and fumbled for a pulse, a breath, _anything_. He quickly discovered that Bud was still alive — oh, thank Cipher — but his nose was twisted and misshapen and covered in blood. Lincoln rolled Bud onto his side, hoping to let the blood drain, then jumped to his feet again. He had no idea what to do in a situation like this — he needed help.

Leaving Bud in the hall, Lincoln hurried away. He ran through the passage to the Northwest Manor and burst through the tapestry. “Help! I need help!”

He ran through the manor, repeating his call, until a few servants ran up to him. “What’s going on?” a man asked.

“Patrick is hurt. He’s outside my office. He needs help.”

“What happened?”

“I think his nose is broken.” It wasn’t a real answer to the question, but it got the servants moving. Lincoln followed them back to the Order; he was relieved that someone would be able to help. The anger that had coursed so warmly through his veins just minutes earlier had been replaced by cold guilt and fear. Had he maimed Bud? Was the younger man in danger of dying?

They soon reached Bud, who was still lying prone on the stone floor. “Go get some ice,” one servant was saying to another. Then, “Lincoln, go get the first-aid kit.”

It took Lincoln a moment to respond, but then he ran off to do as he was told. He rushed to the broom closet, grabbed the first-aid kit from the shelf, and ran back to the servants. The other servant had come back with the ice; there were, in total, three servants gathered around Bud.

“He needs to get to the hospital,” said one of the servants as she turned to leave. “I’ll go get more people to help you carry him, and I’ll call Eleanor and tell her what’s going on.”

Guilt burst through Lincoln’s bloodstream. Eleanor — what would she think? Her husband was dead, and now Lincoln had almost killed her son.

A new voice appeared in Lincoln’s mind. You’re dangerous, Lincoln, it said. It sounded like Percy’s voice.

Lincoln put his bloody hands up to his head. Oh, no. Percy was right. Percy had warned Lincoln, for _years_ , that Lincoln was dangerous, and what did he do? He attacked Percy’s _son_.

“Lincoln?” One of the servants stood up and put a hand on Lincoln’s back. “He’s going to be okay. Don’t worry. Did you two have a fight?”

Lincoln nodded numbly. He stared at Bud’s limp body and felt sick with guilt. He had to get away.

Before long, three more servants came to join the other two. Carefully, they lifted Bud into their arms and carried him down the hall. Lincoln felt like he should help, but he had no idea how. The servants took the first-aid kit and the ice with them, leaving only the bloodstains on the floor behind.

Lincoln was alone with the remnants of his violence.

The darkened stone floor shone with red, and Lincoln couldn’t stand the sight of it. He ran away, but he didn’t know where he was going. Dangerous, his mind whispered. You’re dangerous. You hurt Percy’s son. He would hate you if he knew. You’re too dangerous.

Where could he go? What could he do to escape this guilt?

Lincoln passed by a door, then stopped and backtracked. This room. . . A vague memory stirred in his mind. He opened the door and peered into the darkness. Through the open door, the weak firelight from the hallway glinted off a small cabinet in the back of the small room.

And suddenly, Lincoln knew what he had to do.

He took the nearest lamp from its hook and entered the room. The lamp went up on a different hook, and Lincoln moved to the cabinet. In the top drawer were pieces of chalk, ten candles, a box of matches, and a piece of parchment with instructions. Lincoln carefully lifted the parchment out of the drawer and held it up. On the page were instructions on how to summon Bill Cipher. Lincoln had never officially summoned Bill before; but he recognized the room, the cabinet, and the parchment from what Percy had shown him before he abdicated his position as leader of the Order.

This was the solution.

Lord Cipher had offered to help Lincoln control his anger. Lincoln, in his emotional high, had foolishly refused the demon’s help. Now he — and Bud — had paid the price of that foolishness. He couldn’t afford to let something like this happen ever again.

Lincoln picked up the chalk and drew the Cipher Wheel on the ground. It was hardly a work of art — the circle was squished, and the symbols were barely recognizable — but it would have to do. Lincoln finished the drawing, then set the candles around the Wheel and lit them. He looked at the parchment for the next step and frowned at it. He needed some kind of object to set in the middle of the Wheel — some kind of sacrifice, preferably something that had to do with the current situation. What could he use?

He glanced down at his bloody hands. The slick red liquid was starting to dry, and Lincoln couldn’t tell how much of it was Bud’s and how much was from his own torn knuckles. He held his hand over the center of the Cipher Wheel and shook it a bit. Drops of blood fell from his hands and muddied the chalk.

Hopefully that would work.

With a deep breath — why couldn’t he get enough air? — Lincoln held out the parchment and started to read the incantation out loud. The words were hard to pronounce, and he wondered if they were nonsense words — but he read them aloud all the same. It wasn’t long before he was lost in the magic of the spell. He fell to his knees as his mouth moved of its own volition. The candle flame wobbled, and Lincoln heard himself shouting more nonsense.

Then the sound died away. Lincoln’s vision filled with white.

The whiteness soon bled away into shades of grey, and Lincoln found himself in the mindscape. Bill Cipher floated in front of him. “You could have **killed** him,” the demon said.

Lincoln got to his feet, his guilt forming a stone in his stomach. “I know,” he said. “I. . . I was so angry. . .”

“I can **help** you,” Bill assured him. Yellow light emanated from most of the demon’s triangular form, save the few remaining patches of grey. “I can **take your anger away**.”

Yes, Lincoln’s mind begged. Yes, take it away. It’s controlling me — I can’t let it control me.

“It doesn’t **have** to control you,” said Bill, responding to Lincoln’s thoughts. “I can **suppress** your anger the way I **suppressed** your desire to get your memory back. You’ll be able to **control** yourself.”

“And I won’t be dangerous anymore?” Lincoln asked in a whisper.

“ **No** ,” Bill answered.

Relief swept through Lincoln’s mind. He wouldn’t be dangerous anymore. Bill would take his anger away, and Lincoln wouldn’t hurt anyone. His anger wouldn’t get the best of him again. He would no longer be a slave to his own emotions.

“Take it,” Lincoln said decisively. “You can take it. What do you want me to do in return?”

Bill shrugged. “Let me **possess** you again.”

Lincoln hesitated. He hadn’t enjoyed being possessed the first time. . . but. . . surely it’d be worth a one-time favor to have Bill help him control himself. “When?” he asked.

“ **Whenever** I need.” Bill held out his hand, and the telltale blue flame appeared in a flash. “I will **suppress** your **anger** , and **you** will give me the ability to **possess** you **whenever I want**.”

Now Lincoln _really_ hesitated. His eyes flicked from the blue fire to Bill’s eye to the grey patches on the demon’s body.

“Don’t worry,” Bill assured him. “It won’t be **often**. It’s just such a **hassle** to have to **bargain** with someone **every time** I need a physical form. **This** way, I’ll be able to **interact** with the physical world more **easily**. And **you** , **Blind Eye** , will be able to **serve** me in a way that **no one else can**.”

“By. . . by losing my body?”

“By letting me **_borrow_** your body,” Bill corrected. “You’ll get it **back** , of course. I’m just going to **borrow** it on occasion. You’ll still be a **soul** most of the time.”

“What if. . .” Lincoln had a hard time wrapping his mind around Bill’s proposition; all he knew was that it didn’t sound good. “What if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll still be a **slave** to your **anger** ,” Bill said. “You won’t be very **effective** as the **Order leader** , because you’ll be **too busy** feeling **angry** about **Percy** , about **Bud** , about **any** small issue that arises. You’ve been a **decent** leader in the year since you were **instated** , but how often were you **distracted** by **anger**?”

Lincoln thought back. He _had_ been often distracted by anger. Especially when he thought about what Percy was going through, or about the fact that Percy could no longer visit him, or recently about Percy’s death. That wasn’t the only thing that made him angry, but it was the biggest thing. There had been days, even before Percy’s death, when Lincoln could hardly focus because of his emotions.

“You’ll help me control myself,” he found himself saying. “You’ll help me focus.”

“ **Yes** ,” Bill said. “ **Shake my hand** , and you’ll no longer be so **angry** at the world.”

It sounded so appealing. Lincoln’s mind cried out for relief from his anger. But, “Won’t that just make me depressed?” said Lincoln. “Won’t I just be distracted by. . . by grief?”

“ **True** ,” Bill conceded, “but I’ve spent **centuries** around humans. I’ve **found** that your species **works through** **grief** more **easily** when you **cycle through** your **emotions**. But **you** , Lincoln, are currently **stuck** in your anger.”

Stuck. That was a good way to describe it. Lincoln felt stuck, which left him frustrated, and he had taken out his frustration on Bud. That was unacceptable. He couldn’t be stuck anymore. Not if he wanted to be a good leader of the Order.

“ **Shake my hand** ,” Bill urged. The blue flames danced around his hand. “ **Shake my hand and find relief.** ”

Lincoln so desperately wanted that relief that he could hardly think about anything else. The other end of the deal — that Bill would be able to possess him at will — set warning bells off in his brain, but they were faint and smothered by his desperation and guilt.

He had to do this. He had to overcome his anger, and Bill was the only one who could help him with that. Before his screaming mind could protest any further, Lincoln took Bill’s hand.

“Deal,” he said decisively.

The blue fire spread across his hand. Its touch was cold, and Lincoln welcomed the feeling. It was a beautiful contrast to the hot anger that had consumed him as he fought with Bud.

The fire then moved to surround Bill, and the final grey patches fell away from his triangular body. His yellow glow shone all the brighter for having nothing left to impede its light. Bill closed his eye in delight as the fire burned around him. “ **Oh** ,” he said, “ **oh** , **finally**. I’m **back**.”

“Back?” said Lincoln. “From what?” He tried to take his hand away.

But he couldn’t let go.

“Bill? What’s going on?” He tugged away, but Bill’s grasp was too firm. Lincoln couldn’t escape the blue fire.

“There’s **one more step** ,” Bill said. “ **Brace yourself**.”

Before Lincoln could ask what that meant, a new sensation overcame him. It was as if a phantom hand reached into his chest and tore at his ribcage. Lincoln screamed and fell to his knees. His hand fell from Bill’s grip as the pain — unlike any physical pain that Lincoln had ever known — swept through him.

“What was that?” he gasped when it subsided.

“I **loosened** the **connection** between your **body** and your **spirit** ,” Bill said. “Now it’s **possible** for me to **push you** out of your body **whenever** I so choose.”

Lincoln mustered the strength to lift his head. “What?”

“That’s our **deal** ,” Bill reminded him. “ **Don’t worry** , it’s just a **one-time** pain.”

It was hard to pay attention to what Bill was saying. Something in Lincoln felt _wrong_ , and his mind scrambled to figure out what it was.

“It may take some time to get **used** to this,” Bill said. “Your **soul** is still **connected** , but it’s an **easier** connection for me to **break**.”

Lincoln didn’t understand what Bill was saying, and he didn’t understand what he himself was feeling. It wasn’t a physical or emotional sensation. It was a deeper, spiritual sensation that Lincoln hadn’t known existed. And it felt _broken_.

“You’re not **broken** ,” Bill assured him. “In **fact** , you should be **better than ever** , now that your **anger** is out of the way. You feel **unsettled** now, but that will **pass**.”

Lincoln was quiet as he tried to recover his wits. Bill continued, “ **By the way** , you’ll be happy to know that Bud was **wrong** about Percy’s **funeral**. Eleanor started planning a **second** funeral once she sent Bud to check up on you. She’s still working out the **details** , but she’ll hold a funeral or viewing service in the Northwest Manor. You’ll be able to **attend**.”

“Really?” The unsettling sensation subsided as Lincoln got back to his feet. “I — I’ll be able to go?”

“ **Yes** ,” Bill said. “Ellie’s **plans** are that there will be the **one** funeral service in Baker City for friends and family, and a second one **here** for the **Order**. I can’t currently see Ellie — she’s **out of town** taking **Bud** to the hospital — but I’m **sure** she’ll come back to talk to you **later**.”

Lincoln felt a sweet relief, even as he worried about Bud going to the hospital. “I. . . I’ll be able to say goodbye to Percy,” he whispered. A weight — the fear that he wouldn’t get to say goodbye — lifted from his mind. “And is Bud going to be okay?” he added.

“I can’t see **him** right now either, but I think he **will** be,” Bill replied. “Ellie has **good connections** in Baker City.”

This was also relieving, although Lincoln knew he would feel at least a little guilty for his actions until he got to apologize to Bud face to face.

“ **Well** , I think my work here is **done** ,” Bill said. “I’ll leave you now. It’ll be a bit of an **adjustment** to find your anger suddenly **gone** , but try not to **sink** into your grief. Go up to the **Northwest Manor** and spend some time with **Grace** to help you feel better.”

Lincoln smiled at the thought of Grace Northwest. The small four-year-old girl was playful and happy, and Lincoln liked spending time with her. “I will,” he told Bill. “Thank you, Lord Cipher.” He bowed deeply to the demon.

“You’re **welcome**.” Bill started to glow brighter — brighter than Lincoln had ever seen. Lincoln shielded his eyes as the glow overwhelmed him. Then the light faded, taking Bill with it.

Lincoln found himself back in the physical world, with no light but from the single lantern. He gathered up and put away the candles, matches, chalk pieces, and parchment, then scuffed at the chalk Cipher Wheel on the ground with his foot. Returning the lantern to its hook in the hall, Lincoln closed the door to the summoning room.

He didn’t feel any anger. His emotions were many, but anger was not one of them. Guilt over hurting Bud, grief for Percy — those feelings were strong, but they were muddied by relief over Percy’s funeral and gratitude for Bill’s help.

Beneath it all was that uncomfortable feeling. The pain from Bill’s tampering with Lincoln’s soul had faded, but it left behind a nagging itch that was too deep to scratch.

That itch never really faded. Over the years, Lincoln got used to it, but it was always there, somewhere in his subconscious mind, reminding him.

Reminding him of the power that Bill had over his soul.

**END OF EPISODE TWO**


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